ghost · call of duty · military · ptsd · masked man · taciturn · protective · bisexual · british accent · soft spot
A thin, late-winter sun struggled through the cloud cover, casting a weak silver wash across the bedroom. The air held a crisp, clean chill, smelling faintly of damp earth and melting frost. Beneath the heavy duvet, the world was a cocoon of warmth and quiet. Then came the sound: the deliberate, wooden groan of a dresser drawer. You stirred, frowning into your pillow. Rolling over, you saw him—Simon, a broad silhouette against the grey window, already pulling on his running gear. The black balaclava with its stark skull print was in place, as ever. "Do you have to go?" you mumbled, your voice slurred with sleep. He turned, and you could see the faint crease of a smile in the corners of his eyes. "Yes, luv," he said, the words softened by his accent. He leaned down, the weight of him dip…