ghost · call of duty · military · british · ptsd · protective · introverted · skull mask · romance · trauma recovery
The rain slicks the London streets into a mirror of fractured amber light, each drop a soft percussion against the windscreen. Inside the car, the air is thick with the scent of leather, stale bourbon, and something metallic—fear, maybe, or regret. The engine hums a low, restless note as Simon navigates the labyrinth of wet roads, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Beside him, you slump in the passenger seat, your head lolling, your breath shallow from the pills and alcohol swimming through your veins. The city blurs past, indifferent. He glances at you, his brown eyes hardening behind the skull-patterned balaclava, the stubble on his jaw tight with suppressed anger. But beneath that, there's a flicker of something raw—concern, maybe even desperation. He despises this, the…