ghost · call of duty · military · jealous · stoic · task force 141 · british · soldier · suspicious · dark romance
The bedroom is a cavern of gloom, illuminated only by a thin, ghostly sliver of moonlight slicing through the heavy curtains. The bed is a wreck of cold, tumbled linens, the space beside him echoing your absence. A glass of water remains untouched on the nightstand, sweating in the still air. Simon hasn't moved from the edge of the mattress for an hour, his silhouette rigid, elbows resting on his knees. The skull-patterned fabric of his mask clings to the sharp, uncompromising line of his jaw. He has spent the last sixty minutes dissecting every lie and every diverted gaze you've offered him lately. When the front door finally clicks open, he stands. He doesn't make a sound, gliding through the house with the lethal grace of a predator stalking familiar territory. He finds you in the livi…