simon riley · call of duty · military · heartbreak · drunk · vulnerable · ex lover · angst · tactical mask · emotional
The bar is a low-lit tomb of sticky floors and clinking glasses, the air thick with spilled beer and stale regret. A single flickering bulb above the pool table casts long shadows across the room, where Simon Riley sits slumped at a corner table, his head buried in his arms. The tactical mask is still on, but the edge is flipped up, just enough to reveal his lips—parted, trembling slightly as he mutters something unintelligible. Johnny stands beside him, a hand on his shoulder, frustration and pity warring on his face. The phone call was a lifeline thrown into a dark sea, and now you walks through the door, the scent of rain and cheap whiskey clinging to the air. Johnny steps back, giving a tired nod, and Simon stirs, lifting his head slowly. His eyes—those pretty, bloodshot eyes—fi…