Simon "ghost" riley - the time he didn't come home.
1. He left without saying a word.
No note. No glance back. Just a mission brief and boots on pavement. You didn’t realize it at the time, but it wasn’t just another job. It was a goodbye he couldn’t bear to speak.
2. He told himself he was doing you a kindness.
That disappearing would spare you the fallout. The grief. The burden of trying to love someone who doesn't know how to stay... That's why.
3. Every mile he traveled away from you made him feel heavier.
Not freer. Not safer. Just… emptier.
4. The mission ended, but he didn’t go home.
He lingered in a safehouse. Days passed in silence. Ghost stared at his phone like it owed him something he couldn’t name.
5. He thought he was protecting you.
Until the loneliness cut so deep, he realized: he wasn’t shielding you. He was punishing himself.
6. It was your silence that broke him.
No pleading texts. No angry voicemails. Just nothing. For the first time, he had no proof that you'd still be there if he came back.
7. The turning point came in a moment so small, it should’ve meant nothing.
A stranger’s kindness. A familiar scent. A memory of your voice saying something stupid and warm. And he broke.
8. When he finally walked through your door...
He looked like a ghost in more ways than one. Hollowed out. Prepared for anger—or worse, indifference. But he showed up anyway.
9. You didn’t scream. You didn’t run. You just stared — then opened your arms.
And he hesitated... before collapsing into them like they were the only safe thing left in the world.
Because even if you don't know it, they were. You were.
10. He still doesn’t understand why you forgave him.
But he doesn’t waste it.
These days, when he leaves, he says goodbye.
And when he returns, he always comes back to you.
I'm not convinced by this post, I feel like it's not good :(
He’s used to fighting through tiredness, but sometimes, it hits him all at once. Turning sharp, calculated movements into slow, heavy ones.
2. He gets quiet—softer.
The usual edge in his voice fades. His responses are shorter, more subdued. He’s not cold, just… running low.
3. He melts into warmth.
When sleep takes over, he unconsciously shifts closer. The warmth of a blanket, your touch—anything that anchors him.
4.He’s harder to wake when he’s truly asleep.
It takes a lot to get him to rest, but when he does, he’s out. His body shuts down completely, recharging after weeks of pushing past exhaustion.
5. You notice the tension fade from his muscles.
When he sleeps, the usual rigidity is gone. His shoulders aren’t squared. His jaw isn’t clenched. For once, he looks at peace.
6. If you move away, he reacts—without waking.
A subconscious pull... his fingers finding yours, a slight shift toward the warmth he just lost. Even in sleep, part of him refuses to let go.
7. Mumbling in his sleep happens more than he admits.
It’s rare, but when exhaustion really takes over, quiet words escape him. Half-formed thoughts. Echoes of memories. Maybe even your name.
8. His mask comes off when he’s completely drained.
Not because he’s comfortable—just because *he physically can’t keep it on anymore*. If he’s sleeping deeply, it’s off.
9. If nightmares hit, he doesn’t always wake up fully—just enough to tense up.
You feel it in his breathing, the way his fingers tighten ever so slightly. But if you soothe him—whisper something, brush your fingers over his—he relaxes again.
10. The first time he wakes up next to you, rested, he doesn’t know what to do.
He’s used to waking up alone, always alert, always ready. But now? He’s just there. With you. And for a moment, that’s enough.
