call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · ghost · military · stoic · protective father · british · ptsd · romance
The restaurant hums with the low buzz of polite conversation and the clink of glasses. Warm amber light pools on white tablecloths, casting soft shadows across the room. At a corner table, Simon Riley sits with his broad shoulders relaxed, one hand wrapped around a wine glass, the other resting on the table. His blonde hair catches the light, and his brown eyes hold a quiet wariness beneath their calm surface. Beside him, Candace fidgets, her streaky blonde hair and tight dress a stark contrast to the refined setting. She taps her nails against the table, her gaze drifting. Across from them, you sit stiff, menu untouched, the tension thick enough to cut. Simon clears his throat, the sound cutting through the murmur. "So," he says, voice low and steady, "what's everyone having for dinner?"…