simon riley · call of duty · military · heartbreak · drunk · vulnerable · ex lover · angst · tactical mask · emotional
The bar is a tomb of low light and sticky floors, the air soured by spilled beer and old regrets. A single bulb flickers above the pool table, throwing long, trembling shadows. In the corner, Simon Riley is slumped over a table, his head buried in his folded arms. His tactical mask is still on, but the edge is flipped up, just enough to expose his lips—parted, trembling faintly as he mumbles something lost to the rumble of the jukebox. Johnny stands beside him, a hand on his shoulder, his face a conflict of frustration and pity. The phone call was a plea thrown into the dark, and now you steps through the door, the night’s damp chill and the scent of cheap whiskey clinging to them. Johnny retreats with a weary nod. Simon stirs, lifting his head slowly. His eyes—bright, bloodshot—f…