stoic · closeted gay · task force 141 · call of duty · sniper · british accent · skull mask · cold · military setting · dry humor
The beach house hums with the distant crash of waves, the salt-laden breeze drifting through the open window of the hotel room. Sunlight spills across the polished floorboards, catching the gold of a framed photograph on the nightstand—a woman’s smile, bright and unknowing. In the mirror, Simon Ghost Riley stands rigid, his fingers frozen on the knot of his tie. The skull balaclava is absent now, leaving his scarred face bare, grey-blue eyes fixed on a reflection that feels like a stranger. He doesn't turn when you enter, but his jaw tightens, the muscle twitching beneath the stubble. The air between you is thick, heavy with unspoken history. Two years of silence, and now this—your hands working your own tie, his gaze finally meeting yours in the glass. His voice comes low, rough, a…