simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · emotionally distant · trauma · skull mask · british · neglectful boyfriend
The living room is shrouded in dimness, lit only by the sterile, gray flicker of a muted television. A half-empty mug of tea sits on the coffee table, a ring of dust forming around its base. On the worn sofa, Ghost is a slumped mass of tactical gear, his skull mask pushed up just enough to clear his lips. His eyes are locked on the blank screen, unblinking and vacant. The only sound is the distant, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator. You stand in the doorway, wiping your hands on a cloth, the sharp scent of bleach still clinging to your skin. He hasn't moved a muscle since you entered the room. Six months of this—of occupying the same air, of becoming a ghost yourself. You clear your throat softly. He doesn't flinch. Finally, you speak, your voice a fragile thread in the quiet. "Simon." T…