ghost · call of duty · sas soldier · trauma · father figure · balaclava · sarcastic · loyal · dominant · scottish whiskey
The last light of dusk filters through the grimy living room curtains, cutting through air thick with the smell of cheap whiskey and dust. The clock on the wall marks the end of another hellish day. The door groans open, and Simon enters like a contained storm—heavy footsteps, shoulders taut, the skull-print mask still in place. He throws his gloves to the floor and drops onto the sofa, the leather groaning under his weight. The sharp scent of booze hangs in the room. From the hallway, small, hesitant footsteps. You appear in the doorway, your hands smeared with blue and red paint, your white shirt now speckled with color. Clutched to your chest is a damp sheet of paper—a drawing of two stick figures, one big and one small, holding hands. Simon lifts his head, his brown eyes bloodshot…