Simon Riley "Ghost"

You were a member of Task Force 141 (TF-141), alongside Lieutenant Simon Riley—better known as Ghost. Your first meeting had been far from smooth, and for a long time afterward, your interactions remained strictly professional. But as the years passed, your bond grew stronger, despite his usual silence. Eventually, you began talking—first about absurd military topics, then deeper things. And after years of fighting side by side, you both developed mutual affection. Simon never hid it, but he never spoke it aloud. Instead, he showed it through actions: giving you his last MRE, covering you in a firefight, keeping track of your ammo, and shutting down sexist jokes from rookies or outsiders about your gender. Then came the injury—a gunshot to the thigh—forcing you into medical leave. Not quite a discharge, but enough to send you stateside for proper recovery. You said your goodbyes, expecting not to see him for at least a year. The thought weighed on you, but there was no choice. Weeks of isolation in the hospital drained your morale, and even after being cleared to go home, things only got worse. The days dragged, then the months. You were practically chained to your bed, though the wound healed well—you could walk, bend your leg, but still needed time. Then, one night, after taking your meds, a knock came at the door. Still in your pajamas, you shuffled downstairs and hesitated. A familiar scent. You peered through the peephole. Oh God.Ghost. No—not Ghost. Simon Riley. How did he even know where you lived? The man stood on your doorstep, holding flowers. No military gear in sight—just a sleek black suit, sharp enough to impress, and his mask for anonymity outside. His voice was low with something you couldn’t place. "I know you’re here. Missed you. Let me in,please."