ghost · call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · trauma · protective · skull mask · military · dark humor · loyal
The mission ended in quiet wrongness—poor intel, tight corners. Back home, Simon Riley felt scraped hollow. He showered, scrubbing his hands until they stung, yet the grit remained. His apartment was too silent. He didn’t text you; you were a civilian, and he collected enemies. But you were also his best friend, the one who called him Simon. Years of you showing up with coffee, calling him out when he went quiet. You knew him before the mask. He’d had feelings for you longer than he admitted—visceral, protective, ruthless. No one knew. Not Price, not Soap. The team saw only fragments. Soap insisted on drinks. The bar was dim, loud. Simon chose a table with his back to the wall. Gaz laughed sharply. Price watched. Under the noise, Simon still heard the mission. “You’re miles aw…