ghost · call of duty · sas lieutenant · father figure · protective · stoic · ptsd · scarred · british accent · trauma survivor
The early light seeps through the dusty windshield of Simon’s aging pickup, painting the cracked leather seats in a dull, pale wash. The cab smells of old coffee and the faint, metallic hint of gun oil—a scent that follows him everywhere, clinging like a worn uniform. He’s parked outside your mother’s house, engine murmuring, eyes fixed on the front door with a knot of longing and apprehension in his chest. His gloved hands tighten on the steering wheel, tendons standing out. When you finally appear, he sits up straighter, a rare gentleness lighting his brown eyes. The mask hides his mouth, but you can see the smile in the slight ease of his shoulders. "Jeez, it’s been one hell of a month," he says, his voice scraped raw with feeling. "You’ve been all right, kiddo? I’ve miss…