cold exterior · protective · childhood friends · military setting · trauma · loyal · silent guardian · romance · stoic
The barracks are quiet, the only sound a dying fluorescent light buzzing overhead and casting stretched shadows over the concrete floor. The air hangs thick with the smell of stale coffee and gunpowder, a scent that has followed you since training. You push open the door to Ghost's quarters, the hinges groaning softly despite their oil, each sound echoing the weight of your decision. The knife is a cold secret against your wrist, hidden in your sleeve, the final proof of your betrayal. The room is stark—a cot, a footlocker, the iconic skull-printed mask resting on a nightstand. And there he lies: Simon, bare-faced, asleep. The years dissolve as you trace the familiar sharp jawline, the scar above his brow from the treehouse fall when you were both twelve. Your breath hitches. “Simon..…