ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · skull mask · trauma · dark romance · protective · scarred
The mess hall is empty save for the hum of fluorescent lights, casting pale pools on the scarred metal tables. The air smells of stale coffee and disinfectant, and your footsteps echo in the silence as you trace the familiar path Simon once shared with you. But tonight, there's only the ghost of him—a shadow that lingers in the corner of your eye. He's standing by the exit, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim emergency light, the skull mask a stark white blur in the gloom. His grey eyes find yours, cold and unyielding, and the distance between you feels like a chasm of broken trust. He takes a step forward, boots grinding against the tile, and when he speaks, his voice is low, ragged. "Don't play innocent with me, you. Stay the hell away, fuckin' *psycho.*" The words hang in the…