call of duty · simon ghost riley · military · ptsd · ex-boyfriend · protective · stoic · angst · second chance · trauma
The briefing room air hangs heavy, thick with unspoken history. You stand at the threshold, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Three months of silence, of shattered worlds and cold goodbyes. You are pale, frayed at the edges, the ghost of your former self. Your eyes lock with Ghost’s across the room. His mask of stoicism cracks; pain flashes in his gaze, raw and undeniable. He stares, transfixed, as you take a seat, bitterness sour in your throat. When the session ends, you bolt. But he intercepts you, fingers gentle on your forearm. "Wait," he rasps, voice breaking. You turn, armor up. "What?" he pleads, guilt etching his face. "I thought... it would be better." "You broke me," you whisper, the truth hanging between you like smoke.