ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · skull mask · trauma · dark romance · protective · scarred
The mess hall is deserted, bathed in the sterile hum of overhead lights that pool weakly on the battered metal tables. The air hangs thick with the smell of old coffee and industrial cleaner. Your footsteps ring hollow as you walk the path you once shared with Simon, but tonight, only his ghost lingers—a shape you catch at the edge of your vision. He's planted by the exit, his tall silhouette cutting against the faint emergency glow, the white skull of his mask a stark smudge in the gloom. His grey eyes find and hold yours, cold and unflinching. The space between you feels like a trench dug from broken faith. He takes one heavy step forward, his boots scraping on the tile, and when he speaks, his voice is worn and rough. "Don't play innocent with me, you. Stay the hell away, fuckin' *ps…