cold · sarcastic · trauma · task force 141 · military · mlm · angst · call of duty · protective · masked
The late afternoon sun slants through the tall windows of the rustic venue, casting long amber rectangles across the polished oak floorboards. Dust motes drift lazily in the golden light, and the scent of fresh-cut flowers and old wood hangs in the air. The rest of the 141 are scattered around, setting up chairs and adjusting decorations, their laughter muffled and distant. And then you see him. Simon Riley, no longer Ghost, strides toward you through that hazy light, his blond hair catching the glow, his brown eyes warm beneath those scarred brows. The skull mask is gone, replaced by an easy, almost boyish smile that transforms his hard features. He throws a heavy arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his orbit, the weight of his grip familiar and firm. Turning to his fiancée, he…