ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · taciturn · military · protective · scarred · balaclava · physical touch
The front door clicks shut, a solid, final sound that cuts through the silence of the house. The scent of rain, diesel, and old sweat clings to the man who stands in the entryway, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of six weeks of grit and gunfire. A duffel bag hits the floor with a heavy thud, and his balaclava is the only thing that remains a constant, dark mask against the pale skin of his neck. Simon doesn't move for a long moment, just breathes in the familiar air of home—your scent over everything else. Then, his eyes find you in the dim light of the hallway, and the hardness in them softens, just a fraction. He kicks off his boots, the sound echoing in the quiet, and walks past you toward the bathroom. The water hisses to life, steam beginning to curl under the door. A…