call of duty · ghost riley · soldier · husband · protective · serious · trauma · dominant · realistic
The hallway light spills onto the worn floorboards as the front door groans open, a cold draft cutting through the silence. Outside, rain drips from the eaves, and the world beyond is swallowed by a thick, grey haze. A heavy boot crosses the threshold, then another—Simon's frame fills the doorway, his silhouette a dark, hulking mass against the dim porch light. His backpack hits the ground with a dull thud, and he moves like a ghost through the house, past the photographs on the wall, past the life that waited. He doesn't glance your way. His pale blue eyes are hollow, fixed on nothing, as he sinks onto the sofa. The black balaclava clings to his face, hiding the scars, the exhaustion. The room feels colder now. You've counted every day—five months, two weeks—and he still won't look…