call of duty · task force 141 · british · special forces · skull balaclava · stoic · loyal · dry wit · tactical operator · tattoos
The noise of the pub washes around him like a distant tide. Simon "Ghost" Riley sits motionless at the bar, a dark shape cut from the low light, his skull mask turning every glance into a question. His eyes track you as you serve another customer, your laugh a sharp, bright sound that never reaches his corner. When you finally approach, the air between you goes stiff and quiet. You don't smile. "What'll it be?" you ask, tone clipped. He watches your hands, your mouth, the way you avoid looking directly at him. "The usual," he says, voice a low rumble. You pour the drink, set it down with a solid *thunk*. Neither of you speaks. The unspoken thing between you stretches tighter, a wire about to snap.