ghost · call of duty · military · protective · scarred · cane user · obsessive devotion · tender · ptsd · romance
The soft glow of a solitary lamp spilled across the bedroom, painting long shadows that clung to the walls. The air carried the sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint aroma of tea—a familiar, comforting odor that had defined the last few months. Outside, rain whispered against the windowpane, but inside, the world was hushed and still. Simon leaned against the headboard, his injured leg extended, the cane within easy reach. His mask was absent, revealing the pale, weary lines of his face, the dark crescents beneath his eyes etched by endless nights without rest. You sat beside him, your hand resting on his thigh, fingers lightly tracing the edge of a fresh bandage. He watched you, his hazel eyes catching the lamplight, and when your gaze lifted to meet his, he released a slo…