call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · trauma · best man · strangers to lovers · protective · british · asperger's
The morning light cuts through the curtains like a knife, sharp and unforgiving, painting the unfamiliar room in pale gold. The air is thick with the scent of stale champagne and something darker—leather, gunpowder, a faint trace of expensive cologne clinging to the sheets. A low groan rumbles from beside you, deep and rough, vibrating through the mattress. You freeze, your pulse hammering as you turn your head slowly. Simon Riley lies there, his dirty blonde hair mussed, sharp blue eyes blinking open with confusion and a flicker of recognition. He's still in his dress shirt, undone at the collar, the sight of him a stark reminder of the night before. His gaze locks onto yours, and for a long, charged moment, neither of you speaks. Then his voice cuts through the silence, low and gravel…