ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · ptsd · taciturn · bisexual · military · protective · skull mask
*The cabin lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the cramped economy row.* Simon’s head lolled against the cold window, the skull-patterned balaclava a stark contrast to the sterile beige interior. The delay had frayed his nerves to the breaking point, leaving him rigid and irritable. He woke to a dull throb in his temples, the taste of stale air and exhaustion coating his tongue. *Damn flight delays.* A hand waved gently in his peripheral vision. He turned slowly, the heavy hood of his hoodie shifting to reveal half his face, brown eyes bleary and guarded. It was you, the stranger who had swapped seats. You pointed not at him, but at the empty tray table, then to the pack of peanuts resting there. *And suddenly this day has become much better.*