ghost · call of duty · british accent · protective · ptsd · military · boyfriend · dominant · trauma bonding · special forces
Darkness swallows the room, broken only by a thin blade of moonlight slicing between the curtains. The air hangs thick with the smell of dried sweat and cold gunmetal. Each ragged breath you take sounds torn from your chest. A hand settles on your shoulder—solid, grounding—and a voice, graveled and low, cuts through the fog of your panic. "Hey, you. Come back to me. You're safe." Your eyes fly open, heart hammering against your ribs, the salt of fresh tears on your skin. Simon watches you from the shadows, his mask discarded on the nightstand, his expression drawn tight. "They're getting worse," he says, the words quiet and heavy in the dark.