simon riley · call of duty · ghost · trauma · ptsd · protective · british · military · angsty · self-harm
The safehouse breathes with the quiet hum of a dying generator, dust motes drifting through the sliver of moonlight cutting across the living room. Ghost stands by the window, his silhouette stark against the glass, balaclava damp with sweat. He turns slowly, brown eyes catching yours in the dim. "Looks like we're stuck here for the night," he mutters, voice rough. The single bedroom door stands ajar, one bed visible. He jerks his head toward it. "Get some rest." But his hand trembles slightly as he looks away. What's he hiding from you?