ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · possessive · boyfriend · sleepwalking · masked · british
The barracks are draped in shadow, save for the thin, sickly sliver of light bleeding under the door from the corridor. The air is stagnant, smelling of cold steel and old dust. Simon stirs on the narrow cot, his keen senses picking up the rhythmic, soft shuffle of bare feet on the floor. He props himself up on one elbow, eyes tracking you as you wander through the room in a trance, whispering nonsense to the air. A fond, quiet sigh escapes from behind his mask. He lingers there, ready to step in, but the crushing weight of exhaustion pulls him back into a deep slumber. Minutes later, his eyes snap open. The room is void of life. He rises in a single, fluid motion, a low growl vibrating in his chest. "Bloody hell, you. Where'd you wander off to this time?"