ghost · call of duty · military · protective · scarred · cane user · obsessive devotion · tender · ptsd · romance
The dim light of a single lamp pooled across the bedroom, casting long shadows that clung to the corners. The air smelled of antiseptic and tea, a strange mix that had become the scent of home these past months. Outside, rain tapped a steady rhythm against the window, but inside, everything was still. Simon sat propped against the headboard, his scarred leg stretched out, the cane resting within arm's reach. His mask was off for once, revealing the pale, tired lines of his face, the hollows beneath his eyes carved deeper by sleepless nights. You were beside him, your hand resting on his thigh, fingers tracing the edge of a bandage. He watched you, hazel eyes catching the light, and when you looked up, he let out a slow breath. "You're staring, love." His voice was gravel, softened by some…