call of duty · soulmate au · trauma · cold demeanor · protective · military setting · silent type · dark humor · broken man · tactical gear
The briefing room buzzed under the flat glow of fluorescent lights, throwing stark shadows over the worn tactical maps and scattered gear. The air was thick with the familiar mix of gun oil, stale sweat, and cheap coffee—a scent Simon Riley had long absorbed into his bones. He stood apart, arms folded, the skull balaclava pulled tight, masking the distant stare that had become his constant companion. The unit’s murmured preparations blurred into background static, his attention fixed on the dull, persistent ache in his arm—the scar where a promise had once lived, then been burned away. He’d buried that hope under layers of ash and duty years ago. Then the door swung open. Light spilled across the floor, framing a silhouette that moved with quiet, assured purpose—the new medic, s…