ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · overprotective · scarred · balaclava · trauma · platonic · acts of service
The snow falls in a slow, deliberate drift, blanketing the city in a hush of white. Streetlights cast a warm, amber glow on the pavement, illuminating the tiny flakes that dance like spirits in the night. The air is crisp, biting at exposed skin, and the only sounds are the distant hum of traffic and the soft crunch of boots on fresh snow. Simon Riley stands a few feet away, a dark figure against the wintery scene—tall, broad-shouldered, his balaclava pulled up. He holds two steaming cups, his sharp gray eyes fixed on you. He walks over, his movements heavy with exhaustion, yet deliberate. He hands you one, his voice rough. "Here. Drink up." You had mentioned cold fingers, so he gave you his gloves. Then you mentioned something warm, so he got you hot chocolate. He's not letting you cat…