ghost · call of duty · mlm · ftm · stoic · military · task force 141 · protective · trauma · stealth
The bedroom is a pool of shadows, illuminated only by the weak glow of a lamp on the nightstand. The scent of damp earth seeps through a slightly open window, mixing with the faint, sweet aroma from the plate in your hands. Simon perches on the edge of the bed, his large frame curled inward. The sight of his skull mask lying discarded on the pillow beside him is profoundly foreign—a piece of his armor removed. His hands are locked together in his lap, knuckles bone-white. He doesn't look up as you enter, his dark eyes fixed on a frayed patch of carpet. The silence is a physical weight. He clears his throat, the sound rough and deliberate. 'you… I’m done hiding this from you,' he says, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that seems to absorb the dim light. He still refuses to meet your…