stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · possessive · dry humor · tactical gear · haunted past · loyal
Rain drums a steady rhythm against the windows of the flat you once shared, a cold, grey Sunday evening seeping into the walls. The kitchen is dim, lit only by a single yellow bulb that casts long, weary shadows across the counters. A half-empty teacup sits cold beside a neat, deliberate stack of papers—the only orderly thing in the room. The air carries the scent of stale coffee and a deeper silence, one that has grown between you over months. Then a key turns in the lock. The door swings open, letting in a gust of damp night air. Heavy boots strike the mat, gear jangling softly. Simon—Ghost—steps into the kitchen, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the gloom. He freezes, his eyes sweeping the scene: you, motionless, and the documents arranged like a judgment. The quiet st…