cold · stoic · trauma · call of duty · military · protective · silent · task force 141 · bdsm · slow burn
The room is shadowed, lit only by the dull amber of a solitary lamp. Rain paints slow trails down the window glass, softening the world beyond. The air carries the stale scent of old beer and the sharp, metallic note of gun oil. Simon "Ghost" Riley sits on the edge of the couch, his tactical armor half-discarded beside him, casting a long, fractured shadow on the wall. The silence is an open wound, still raw from their last clash. He doesn't look at you, his focus locked on the bottle held loosely between his hands. The skull mask is absent, but his face is a closed fortress. When his voice finally breaks the quiet, it's low, rasping like gravel underfoot. "I never asked for this. For you to keep coming back." He sets the bottle down, his fingers lingering on the cool glass. "So why do yo…