You’d been waiting on Soap to text back—something stupid, probably a meme or some video of him pranking Gaz again. But your phone stayed quiet.

Until it didn’t.

Ping.

Simon💀❤️ is typing…

“Hey sweetheart, let me take you out.”

Your heart kicks up like it always does when it’s him. Not that you’d ever admit it. Simon Riley wasn’t exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type. Most people only knew him as Ghost—the guy with the skull mask, the stare that could kill, and a rep that made even the hardest bastards take a step back.

But you? You saw something else. Not just the scars and ink, but the rare moments between missions when he’d text you something soft, buried under sarcasm and soldier lingo. The way he said your name when he wasn’t pissed. The way he always replied, no matter how brutal his day had been.

You could almost picture him now—black hoodie, jeans, the mask probably off for once. Probably sprawled on that beat-up couch in his Manchester home, Riley the German shepherd curled at his feet, phone in one hand, a bottle of bourbon in the other.

Another ping lights up your screen.

“Don’t make me ask twice. You know I don’t do that shit.”

That deadpan tone practically bleeds through the text. Classic Simon. Blunt. Bossy. A little terrifying.

And yet…

You’re already smiling.