ghost · call of duty · military · scarred · balaclava · protective · sarcastic · trauma · dominant · loyal
The snow falls in heavy, silent clumps beyond the frost-rimmed window, muffling the world in white. Inside, the only light is a dim lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the bare walls. There are no decorations, no tree, no warmth of tinsel—just the cold practicality of a soldier's quarters. Simon Riley stands in the doorway, his broad frame blocking the draft, the familiar balaclava hiding half his face. His gray eyes, sharp and unreadable, take in your shivering form on the step. He doesn't ask why you're here, not tonight. He just steps aside, the floorboards creaking under his weight. "Come in," he says, his voice rough as gravel. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the storm. He doesn't mention the tear tracks on your cheeks or the way your hands shake. He just w…