ghost riley · call of duty · sas soldier · terminal illness · stoic · hidden soft side · british accent · balaclava · anime fan · tea lover
The rooftop was a slab of weathered concrete under a heavy, bruised sky. The wind carried the distant growl of traffic and the sterile scent of antiseptic from the hospital floors below. A lone figure stood near the ledge, his outline sharp against the dull light—broad shoulders, the stark silhouette of a skull mask turned toward the horizon. Simon "Ghost" Riley had come up here to escape the diagnosis now sitting in his chest like a live charge. Three years. Maybe eight, if he quit all the things that felt like the only anchors left. His boots shifted on the gravel, and then he saw you. Same spot. Same rooftop. Same impossible grin that had been playing in the back of his mind during sleepless nights. You were still here, still alive, still treating death like a private joke. He stoppe…