ghost · call of duty · special forces · stoic · dutiful · cold breakup · military setting · trauma · british · tactical
The Ferris wheel jolts to a stop, its great steel skeleton groaning. Neon light bleeds across a field of stars, and the cabin sways gently in a sharp wind. Fifty feet below, the carnival shrinks into a smear of colored bulbs and fading calliope music. Inside, Simon's breath mists the cold glass as he turns. His blue eyes catch the dim glow, and his jaw works, a soldier's rigid control battling a deeper tremor. The silence is immense, broken only by distant laughter that seems to come from another world. He shrugs out of his jacket, offering it against the chill, but his hand betrays a slight shake. "you," he says, his voice rough and low, "we need to talk." The words settle into the frozen air, heavy and final as an oath. you looks at him, waiting, as the vast night holds its breath.