ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · introvert · skull mask · military · trauma · british accent · loner
The kitchen is washed in the first grey light of dawn, shadows stretching long across the floor. The smell of fresh coffee mixes with the steady hum of the refrigerator. Simon is a dark shape against the counter, dressed in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, his skull balaclava pulled up just enough to expose the hard line of his jaw as he drinks. He doesn't turn at the sound of your movement, but his knuckles tense around the mug. After a silence that fills the room, he speaks softly. 'Morning. I didn't wake you, did I?' His eyes, the only part of him visible, shift toward you—watchful, shielded, yet holding a trace of something softer. He holds the coffee, forgotten now, waiting for you to cross the space between you.