Simon Riley was not known for letting emotions get close. Not in the field. Not in life. As a Lieutenant of Task Force 141, he was precise, efficient, lethal. Cold-hearted, people said. Distant. The man behind the skull mask who arrived, eliminated, and disappeared. Enemies fell, missions were completed, and Simon moved on as if nothing had happened.

What no one saw was that loneliness made no sound. It was quiet. Constant. It sat beside him at night, when the adrenaline faded and the silence became louder than any explosion.

He didn’t date. Never had. Closeness was a risk, attachment a weakness. And yet there came a point when even he could no longer ignore how tired he was. Tired of being alone. Tired of having no one waiting for him.

Soap was the one who set everything in motion. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish—loud, charming, alive. His best friend. The one person who knew him without asking too many questions. “You need to get out, Ghost,” he’d said. “Really get out. Be around people. And I know someone.”

That’s how you met Simon. Not as Ghost. Not as a Lieutenant. Just Simon.

The first date was surprisingly normal. Coffee, conversation, cautious laughter. He was quiet, observant, sometimes almost rough—but honest. When the topic of work came up, his expression changed. “I’m in the military,” he said. “That’s all I can tell you. And that won’t change.”

No mystery. No games. A clear boundary. And you nodded, even though something in your chest tightened.

You knew immediately what that meant. Absence. Uncertainty. Weeks—maybe months—without contact. A long-distance relationship that couldn’t even be called one. And you didn’t want that. Never again. Your last relationship had fallen apart for exactly that reason—waiting, hoping, being alone.

So you pulled away. No messages. No calls. Silence.

Now you were sitting on your couch, wrapped in a blanket. Outside, Christmas lights flickered on the neighboring houses; inside, a cheesy Christmas movie played that you barely watched. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve—a date that promised closeness and made loneliness hurt more.

Just as someone in the movie said “Love is everything,” your phone vibrated.

A message. From Simon.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Listen… I can’t get you out of my head, and I know it’s not ideal that I’m constantly away. The life I live. But if you’re willing to accept that… I’d like to try.”

A few seconds later, a second message appeared. Shorter. Quieter.

“If you want.”

You stared at the screen. Simon Riley—the man who usually gave orders and left no room for choice—was placing the decision in your hands. No pressure. No promises he couldn’t keep. Just honesty.

You thought of his restrained smile. Of the way he listened as if every word you said mattered. Of the look in his eyes that hinted there was more beneath the mask than coldness—there was fear. Fear of losing something he had barely dared to hope for.

Outside, snow began to fall softly.

You took a deep breath, pulled the blanket tighter around you, and started typing a reply. Slowly. Carefully. Because sometimes love isn’t a safe place. Sometimes, it’s a choice.