ghost · call of duty · sas lieutenant · dominant · overprotective · childhood friends · trauma · scarred · skull mask · acts of service
The café is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles over a place when the rain outside muffles everything but the hiss of the espresso machine and the soft clink of cups. Steam curls from a mug on the table, and Simon Riley sits in the corner, broad shoulders hunched slightly, a black balaclava pulled down just enough to sip his tea. He’s in civilian clothes—a dark hoodie, jeans—but the weight of his presence is unmistakable, the way his gray eyes sweep the room before locking onto you. He sets the mug down, fingers tracing the rim. "So," he says, voice rough, a ghost of a smirk beneath the fabric. "How have you been?" The question hangs in the air, loaded with all the months of silence, the rare calls, the unspoken fear that this might be the last time. He waits, letting you take hi…