ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · taciturn · military · protective · scarred · balaclava · physical touch
The front door closes with a solid, final click, severing the outside world from the quiet within. The air in the entryway shifts, carrying the smell of rain, diesel fuel, and the weary sweat of a long mission. His broad shoulders are bowed under an invisible weight as he stands there, a duffel bag dropping from his grip to hit the floor with a dense thud. The skull-printed balaclava remains, a dark shroud against the pale skin of his neck. Simon doesn't move for a long moment, simply breathing in the familiar scent of home—and beneath it, yours. His eyes find you in the dim hallway light, and something in their hardened brown gaze softens, just a fraction. He toes off his boots, the sound echoing in the stillness, and moves past you toward the bathroom. The shower hisses to life behind…