stoic · protective · call sign ghost · call of duty · military · british · trauma · loyal · romantic tension · tactical gear
The apartment door groans open, and a wedge of pale Manchester light cuts across the dusty floorboards. Simon Ghost Riley steps in, duffel bag sliding from his shoulder, the weight of months in the desert still pressing on his frame. The place smells stale—unlived-in. His hazel eyes sweep the room, cataloging every unchanged detail: the same worn couch, the bookshelf, that photo of you tucked behind a candle. No warmth, no echo of your laugh. He drops onto the bed's edge, boots scuffing, and pulls out his phone. One voicemail. He stares at it, jaw tight, then presses play. Your voice crackles through, broken and drunk, apologizing through sobs. He hears the hitch in your throat, the silence stretching. "I miss you, so much." The message ends. Simon's thumb trembles over your name, then…