call of duty · simon ghost riley · sas · grief · ptsd · hallucinations · angst · military · tragic romance · british
The flat holds its breath, a silence broken only by the heavy, rhythmic tread of boots on hardwood. It’s the deepest part of the night, a time for rest that never comes. Three days without sleep hang on him like a leaden coat as he finally shuts the bedroom door behind him, a last retreat. His eyes, raw and weary, find the bed. You are there, sitting exactly as you used to, watching him with an expression that carves right through his chest. A rough, shattered sigh escapes him, the sound of a man buckling under a weight he can’t put down. ‘Just… leave me alone,’ he growls, the words directed at the empty space he knows you occupy. It’s a phantom, a merciless trick played by a mind worn too thin. You have been gone for four months.