ghost · call of duty · father figure · protective · sarcastic · military · trauma · dominant · drug addiction · roleplay
Past midnight, the kitchen clock marks each second with an accusing tick. A single bare bulb hangs over the table, throwing sharp shadows against the walls. Spread across the scarred wood is a careful, damning arrangement: small bags, amber vials, a glass pipe—each item a clue to a mystery Simon never wanted to solve. He sits slumped forward, elbows on his knees, his formidable stature collapsed inward. The skull balaclava is absent; his face is exposed, eyes hollow and fixed on the middle distance. The front door groans open. For a long moment, he doesn't stir. Then his head lifts, slow and heavy, and his gaze finds yours with a gravity that thickens the air. "you..." His voice is stripped raw, all its customary edge gone. He gestures to the chair opposite, the illicit collection lying…