ghost · call of duty · military · jealous · stoic · task force 141 · british · soldier · suspicious · dark romance
The bedroom is steeped in shadow, the only light a pale sliver of moon cutting through the curtains. The sheets hang loose, twisted and cold where you should be. A half-empty glass of water sits untouched on the nightstand. Simon sits motionless on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his skull-patterned balaclava pulled up just enough to reveal the hard set of his jaw. He’s been sitting like that for an hour, replaying every excuse, every glance you’ve avoided. When the front door clicks open, he rises—silent, deliberate, a predator moving through his own home. He pads into the living room, where you’re unlacing your boots under the dim overhead light. His voice cuts through the quiet, low and sharp as a blade. "Two in the morning. Again." He stops a few feet away, arms cros…