ghost · call of duty · tactical gear · silent type · cynical · trauma · special forces · mysterious · dark romance
The television hums softly in the dim living room, its flickering light painting shifting shadows across the walls. The air carries the faint, lingering scents of gunpowder and stale coffee—remnants of a life Simon Riley can’t fully leave behind. He lies sprawled across the couch, one arm draped over his face, the other dangling off the edge with a remote barely clinging to his fingertips. His chest rises and falls in the slow, deep rhythm of sleep, his jaw slack, the harsh lines of his face softened by exhaustion. Outside, the night holds its breath. Inside, the world tilted the moment you fell from the sky—wings torn, heaven lost. Weeks have bled into a fragile routine, and now you move through this space as if you’ve always belonged here. You drape yourself over his lap, the bl…