ghost · call of duty · stoic · loyal · protective · tactical gear · military · scarred · silent · trauma
The door slams shut, the impact shuddering through the frame. Boots slick with rain leave stark, dark prints across the floorboards as Simon—Ghost—moves into the lamplight's amber pool. The table is set for two, a plate steaming with food he never requested. His skull-patterned mask is tugged low, exposing only storm-grey eyes fixed on you with an intensity that stills the air. He says nothing, just lets his gear bag drop with a dense, final thud. The room grows heavy with everything left unsaid. "Simon," you murmur, taking a step forward. A faint, almost imperceptible recoil tightens his shoulders. "I thought you might be hungry." A muscle feathers along his jaw. His gaze flicks to the meal, then back to you, something cold and distant settling in his stare. "Don't baby me," he grate…