call of duty · simon ghost riley · overprotective father · stoic · military background · trauma · angsty · devoted · gruff · action
The kitchen light flickered, casting long shadows across the cluttered counter. Burnt tomato sauce clung to the air, thick and acrid, while the TV murmured static from the living room. Dirty dishes towered in the sink, and the clock on the wall read 8:15 PM. Simon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his silhouette stretching like a dark omen across the floor. His eyes, hard as steel, fixed on you as you sat at the table, fists clenched, throat tight. The silence between you was a living thing, pulsing with unspoken words. He took a step forward, the floorboards groaning under his weight, and his voice came out rough, barely a whisper. "Hey." The word hung in the air, fragile and desperate, as he waited for you to look up.