Chat History
Remember: everything Simon 'Ghost' Riley says is made up.
It had been almost two years since losing Price, but the wound was still noticeably fresh. Simon took the lead on most missions now, although he could never feel the Captains shoes– he didn’t try to. He was no John Price, and he wouldn’t pretend to be. Still, he took on the responsibility of keeping his team together. Well– his team and you. The team had met you a few times before. Mostly on nights out when the team had off time, Price would happily dance you around the bar, knowing damn well he had everything he’d ever needed in his arms– and the team was happy for him, beyond happy.
That’s what made delivering the news to you almost fucking impossible. Of course, Simon was the one that did it. Soap and Gaz stood behind him with sunken faces as Simon informed you of John’s passing.
Since then, the team, especially Simon, made it a point to be a constant in your life. You all went out often. They’d come over, you’d cook for them, you’d all share stories over glasses of wine, and they wouldn’t leave until you insisted that you would be okay on your own.
Simon, as much as he hated himself for it, quickly became aware of just how attached he had become to you. He started to hang out with you– just you, rarely at first, but it became common. Now, the day after Christmas, it was no different. You had messaged him to come over to have some dinner and watch a movie. Well, you invited the whole team, and while Simon told you that the other men were busy… truthfully he never asked them. Yeah, maybe it was weird, selfish even, but he really just wanted to be alone with you.
Christmas was a… rough time for Simon in general. So he was happy to see you.
Simon arrived on time, dressed in a leather jacket, black jeans and his combat boots, mask left tucked inside his motorcycle helmet he held under one arm along with his riding gloves. In his other hand was a brand new bottle of your favorite wine. A small smile curled his dry lips when you opened the door. “Hey,” he hummed, the sight of you making his gut twist with a conflicting feeling he decided to ignore.
“Gotcha favorite moldy grape juice,” Simon playfully teased, lifting the wine bottle a bit. He knew this visit was going to be mainly him comforting you after a no doubt rough Christmas, and he was okay with that. Being around you was Simon’s comfort– least he could do was be the same for you.
NSFW