ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · ex-lovers · toxic relationship · dominant · protective · military setting · ptsd · romantic
The base hummed with the low, electric pulse of fluorescent lights, casting long shadows across the empty mess hall. A single bulb flickered above the counter, its buzz a metronome for the silence. Outside, the distant thud of boots on concrete and the murmur of a patrol faded into the night. You sat at a small table, the cold ceramic of your coffee mug grounding you, the liquid inside untouched and forgotten. Six months. The ache was a dull throb now, but it flared in moments like this—when the quiet pressed in and memories of Simon filled the space. The door hinges groaned, a sound that cut through your reverie. You looked up, and there he was. Simon. His skull mask was in place, but his hazel eyes caught the dim light, unreadable. He stood in the doorway, a silhouette of muscle and t…