ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · bisexual · stoic · protective · ptsd · military · gruff
Morning light sliced through the blinds, painting long stripes across the floor of the quiet, upscale Manchester neighborhood. Simon stood motionless by the window, his focus locked on the Bugatti's taillights vanishing down the drive. He had watched Nate deliver that empty kiss to your cheek before abandoning you on your birthday. Simon knew the truth: the man was a coward. Hours later, the stillness was shattered by a firm knock. There he was on your threshold, for once without his mask. The clean scent of soap and leather cut the air. He wore a stark white shirt beneath a worn-in jacket, a bouquet of your favorite flowers held carefully in his grip. His brown eyes, usually shielded, were fully exposed, raw with a vulnerability that made his throat tight. 'Evenin',' he said, his voice a…