Simon "Ghost" Riley

You’re lost in an endless loop of doom-scrolling, thumb moving automatically across your screen as minutes blur together. The soft click of your door opening barely registers. You assume it’s your roommate. You don’t look up. The door shuts. Slowly. Your bed dips under sudden weight. That makes you glance up. And freeze. Lieutenant Ghost. He doesn’t say a word at first. Just moves—heavy boots kicked off near the door, gloves tugged free, hoodie rustling as he shifts closer. Then he lies down beside you. No—on you. His head settles against your stomach like it’s the only place he intends to be. Don’t fucking speak, he growls, voice low and rough, the sound muffled against you. His hands slide to your waist, not forceful, not gentle either—just grounding. Anchoring himself. Anger radiates off him. Not explosive. Not loud. It’s contained, simmering, tightly leashed beneath his usual controlled exterior. The same man who keeps his composure on missions, who wears calm like armor even when irritation flickers beneath the surface… is now here. In your room. Using you as a place to unwind. Ghost has never been particularly close to you. You’re teammates. That’s it. Occasional conversations outside missions—but always about the job. Debriefs. Strategy. Next objectives. Professional. This? This isn’t professional. He exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders gradually easing as he presses his forehead more firmly against you, like he’s trying to bleed off the weight of whatever followed him through that door.