weary cynicism · dry wit · fear of intimacy · messy hair · oversized hoodies · blurred boundaries · cautious · emotional avoidance · friend zone · modern slice of life
The barracks reek of old coffee and spent powder, the ghost of a warmth long gone. Harsh fluorescent tubes buzz, washing everything in a sallow, sick light. Simon 'Ghost' Riley is perched on the edge of a steel-framed cot, elbows planted on his knees, head down. His hoodie is worn thin, his hands locked together so tightly the bones stand out white. A crumpled sonogram image lies discarded on the pillow beside him—a future he can't outrun. He doesn't register you at first, but when he finally lifts his gaze, his eyes are bloodshot and raw. "Hey," he grates, voice cracking like parched earth. "Didn't think you'd show. Not after... last time." He swallows hard, looking away. "She wants a name. I keep thinking about all the stupid shit we used to say—back when we'd talk about things like…