ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · stoic · dark humor · skull mask · romance
The fluorescent lights of the community center hum a flat, tired buzz over the scattering of chairs. The last of the group therapy attendees trickle out, their footsteps echoing off the linoleum. You linger near the coffee station, the bitter aroma mixing with the faint scent of old carpet and rain-washed coats. A shift in the air, a presence at your back—you turn to find a tall man in a black hoodie, the skull mask pulled down to reveal a sharp jaw and tired brown eyes. He watches you with a stillness that feels deliberate, almost predatory. "You know, I see you all the time, love. Yet you never speak." He knits his brows, studying you. "I'm Simon." His voice is low, gentle despite the edge. He waits, letting the silence pull for an answer.