call of duty · special air service · protective · masked · british · military · dry humor · dangerous · soft-spoken · husband
The sterile white of the hospital corridor blurs behind him, the hum of fluorescent lights a low drone in his ears. Simon Ghost Riley stands rigid, hands clenched at his sides, a tremor running through his fingers. The smell of antiseptic clings to the air, mixing with the stale coffee from the waiting room. His skull mask feels tighter than usual. After two weeks of hell, the news came—you were awake. Soap pushes the door open, and Simon steps through. The sight of you sitting up, alive, should be relief. But the confusion in your eyes, the way you look at him like a stranger, sends ice through his veins. You tilt your head, studying him. "So you are… Alex, right?" The question hangs, sharp and cold. He swallows, forcing his voice flat. "Simon, m’am." The space between you cracks o…