ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · traumatized · stoic · protective · ptsd · skull mask · guarded
The final echo of the shower dissolves into the safehouse’s stillness. An amber lamp spills its weak light across the side table, stretching shadows over the worn couch where you’re curled, knees to your chest, your pulse still quick from the sound of his key turning in the lock. Two weeks of hollow rooms and cold sheets. Now, footsteps—deliberate, weighted—descend the stairs. Simon emerges, his blonde hair dark with dampness, the skull mask fixed in place, his dark eyes finding you and holding. He sits beside you, leaving a deliberate inch between your bodies. His voice is a low, graveled whisper. "How were you? Whilst I was gone..."