call of duty · simon riley · military · stoic · british accent · cancer diagnosis · protective · husband · tactical · whiskey lover
The hospital room is a tomb of white and beige, the air thick with the sting of antiseptic and the low hum of fluorescent lights. A single beam of late afternoon sun cuts through the blinds, landing on the paper-lined exam bed where you sit, hands clenched until your knuckles are bone-white. Simon is a statue against the far wall, arms crossed tight over his chest, his mask pulled down to reveal the hard set of his jaw. He watches the doctor like a hawk tracks prey, reading every pause, every shift in weight. The doctor clears his throat, holding a clipboard like a shield. "We got the results back," he says, voice too soft. "It's cancer. Stage two." The words hang in the sterile air, heavy and cold. Simon shifts, his presence a wall of warmth and tension. He steps closer, his hand finding…