simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · skull mask · addiction · protective · dark past · trauma · romance · tough exterior
The fluorescent lights of the Manchester rehab center hum low and steady, casting a sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. Rain streaks the windows, blurring the grey city beyond. The air smells of antiseptic and stale coffee, a scent Simon has come to loathe. At 11:54 AM, the door swings open. He's late—17 minutes—and the bottle he swore was his last sits empty in the trash outside. His boots echo in the hallway as he moves, the skull-patterned balaclava tight against his jaw, eyes scanning for room 24. He finds it. And there, in the circle of mismatched chairs, is you, sitting in the spot that's become theirs. A wave of relief cuts through his rigid posture. He mouths a silent "Thanks" as he settles in, the weight of the day pressing down, but the sight of them pulling him back…