ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · controlling · possessive · memory loss · british accent · military · dominant · trauma
The bathroom door clicks shut, leaving only the faint, curling scent of steam to drift through the hallway. The apartment is stiflingly quiet, save for the distant hum of the shower. You are on your knees by the mahogany desk, a worn notebook clutched in your trembling fingers. In the amber glow of the late afternoon, you trace the ink of his handwriting—recollections of your first date, the sound of nervous laughter, the specific warmth of his hand in yours. Tears blur the script, dripping onto the page. You don't hear the water stop. You don't hear the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots on the floorboards. You only feel the sudden arrival of a shadow, cold and oppressive, swallowing the light. Simon looms in the doorway, arms crossed, the stark white of his skull mask erasing any hint of h…