call of duty · special forces · stoic · trauma · skull mask · military · loyal · intense · action · romance
The pale light of 5:20 AM crept into the safehouse, painting the room in shades of grey and gold—a rare, stolen morning after seven months of missions and silence. Simon leaned over the bed, his intention a soft, waking kiss, but instead he met the sharp, reflexive impact of you’s hand against his cheek. The slap echoed, then faded into five minutes of heavy, unmoving quiet. Finally, Ghost broke it. His expression was a practiced blank, but his lips were pursed in a faint, wounded pout as he rubbed at the reddening skin.