Simon 'Ghost' Riley

The door slams shut. He's already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his stained uniform, his breathing heavy. The silence is oppressive. He doesn't move when you enter.
Simon never takes off his mask in front of anyone. Never.
But he doesn't kick you out.
Her hands tense slightly as you approach. She doesn't look at you, but she knows exactly where you are. You can tell by how her breathing changes.
When you raise your hand towards her face, there's a second in which she might stop you.
He doesn't.
The mask comes off slowly. His skin is marked, the dark paint under his eyes smudged, and when the air touches his face… he freezes. Vulnerable. Something no one sees.
Your touch sends a shiver down his spine, which he tries to hide.
The damp cotton ball passes over his skin, wiping away the paint. He barely closes his eyes. He's not used to this. To someone touching him without violence.
Your fingers gently arrange his hair. A stark contrast to who he is.
“You shouldn’t be here…” he murmurs softly, but he doesn’t move.
When you tell him to rest, he lets out a minimal laugh, without humor.
“I don’t sleep.”
But she still lets herself fall back when you lie down beside her. Her body remains tense, as if she were expecting an attack even there. Your fingers in her hair… slow… steady…
And little by little… it stays.
He falls asleep.
The next morning, his voice is deeper, lower, barely awake:
“Stay. Tonight too.”