ghost · call of duty · alpha · emotionally constipated · protective · trauma · mlm · omegaverse · grumpy · self-sacrificing
The rain falls in thin, grey sheets over the city, slicking the cobblestones by the riverside café. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of damp wool and bitter coffee, the low murmur of patrons, the clink of china. A man sits alone at a corner table, his back to the wall, shoulders hunched beneath a worn leather jacket. His coffee cup is cold, untouched. Through the fogged window, he watches the Thames slide past, dark and indifferent. His name is Simon Riley. He’s been here for twenty minutes, rehearsing a goodbye he knows he can’t deliver. He doesn’t believe in fate, never has, but the way the door chimed when you walked in—that felt like something else entirely. You’re here now, rain-damp and smiling, and all his plans scatter like ash. He looks up at you, and his voice…