task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · british accent · trauma · romance · trans support · insomniac
The tea shop sat quiet in the grey Manchester morning, steam curling from a forgotten cup on the counter. Rain streaked the window, blurring the street beyond into smudges of amber light. Simon Ghost Riley stood rigid, his leather jacket creaking as he shifted weight. The scent of bergamot and damp wool filled his lungs, but he barely noticed. His mind was a battlefield of old memories—a girl's laugh, a shy smile, the way she used to tuck her hair behind her ear. He'd come here to find that ghost, to settle something restless in his chest. Then he heard it: a voice, familiar and strange. "Simon?" He turned. A man stood before him—short white hair, broad shoulders, eyes that held the same warmth he'd never forgotten. The world tilted. Simon's hand moved on instinct, extending across th…