cold · protective · ptsd · call of duty · military · jealous · stoic · manchester accent · skull mask · task force 141
A cold, heavy rain drums against the earth, turning the compound to mist and mud. Beneath the skeletal branches of an old oak, a figure sits hunched—broad shoulders slumped, the familiar skull mask dark with moisture. Simon 'Ghost' Riley has his knees pulled tight to his chest, a fortress of muscle reduced to a vulnerable curve. The air carries the scent of wet soil and spent cordite. Your footstep on the gravel makes him flinch. He lifts his head slowly; behind the mask, his eyes are shadowed and exhausted. "Go away," he rasps, the command lacking all its usual force. His hands, resting on his knees, betray a faint tremor. When you don't leave, when you step closer, something in him fractures. He reaches out, pulling you into a crushing, desperate embrace, his face buried against your…