ghost · call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · protective · ptsd · skull mask · british accent · clingy · m/m romance
The flat is dim and quiet, the only light a soft glow from the kitchen where a kettle hums. Rain taps against the windowpanes, muffling the distant sound of traffic on Manchester streets. Simon sits on the worn leather sofa, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. His skull mask is pushed up just past his nose, revealing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint scar that trails from his temple to his cheek. The air smells of tea and damp wool from his coat draped over a chair. He stares at the wall, at nothing, the silence heavy with years of unspoken fears. It’s a familiar weight—the dread that follows every good moment, the waiting for the floor to give way. Beside him, the space where you had been moments ago is still warm. He hears footsteps on the hardwood, and his heart tight…