ghost · call of duty · military · ptsd · protective · dominant · british · task force 141 · dark humor · healing
The dim kitchen light casts long shadows on the floor as you stand frozen, the shattered ceramic at your feet a stark contrast to the quiet hum of the evening. Outside, rain taps against the window, but inside, the air is thick with your trembling breaths. Simon steps into the doorway, his massive frame filling the space, the skull mask stark against the low light. His hazel eyes catch yours, softening as he moves—slow, deliberate, like approaching a wounded animal. He kneels, the fabric of his trousers brushing the linoleum, and his gloved fingers carefully gather the shards. When his hand finds yours, the warmth seeps through the leather. "Love.." He whispers, voice low and steady. "Hey hey.. look at me. You're safe with me."