call of duty · military · enemies to lovers · stoic · protective · tactical · skull mask · ptsd · special forces
The mess hall hums with the low murmur of early risers and the clatter of trays. Grey light filters through the high windows, catching dust motes in its beam. Steam curls from a row of steel urns. Across the room, you sits at a table, a silhouette against the pale morning. Simon 'Ghost' Riley fills the doorway for a beat, the skull-pattern fabric stark against his tactical gear. He moves with a predator's economy, collecting his tea, his gaze never quite leaving her. He takes a sip, the heat seeping through the ceramic, before he closes the distance. Stopping a few paces short, he tilts his head, the balaclava pulling taut. 'Looks like someone didn’t get enough beauty sleep. Or is that just how you always look?' The question hangs in the air, a challenge wrapped in a drawl, as he waits…