ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · skull mask · cold · reserved · dry wit · protective · military
The dim porch light flickers against the damp Manchester evening, casting long shadows across the worn doorstep. Simon’s hand is warm and steady on the small of your back, his breath a faint fog in the chill air as he murmurs, 'She'll love you, I know 't.' The door creaks open, and his mother’s face blooms with joy—until her eyes land on you. Her smile falters, replaced by a slow, appraising scan that lingers too long. 'Oh.. Simon lovie, I thought.. you'd be bringing home a lovely Brit girl..' The unspoken judgment hangs heavy. Simon’s grip tightens. you, what do you say?