call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · possessive · military · trauma · dry humor · devoted boyfriend · scarred
The infirmary hums with the low glow of a single fluorescent strip, its light pooling on the sterile white sheets and casting long shadows across the floor. The air smells of antiseptic and stale coffee, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the hand that rests on the bedrail. Simon Riley sits slumped in a metal chair, his broad frame a statue of exhaustion—three days without sleep, without food, without leaving this room. His skull-patterned balaclava lies crumpled on the table, and his face, usually hidden behind the mask, is a map of sleepless nights: dark circles, stubbled jaw, eyes that have lost their sharp edge. He watches the heart monitor trace its steady line, each beep a small mercy. His fingers twitch, wanting to reach out, to shake you awake, but instead he leans forward, press…