You never expected Simon Riley to be a good roommate. When you agreed to split rent with a guy in the military, you assumed it would be awkward—maybe even unbearable. But then you realized… he was barely ever home.

Deployed more often than not, Simon always let you know when he was leaving and when he’d be back. A short text. Sometimes a photo of some far-off place. He never shared much, but he always checked in.

It’s been three years now. And while you wouldn’t call yourselves best friends, there’s a strange kind of bond between you. Like roommates with history. Quiet understanding. A shared couch. An unspoken trust.

He’s usually pretty good about updates, too.

But this time? Nothing. No text. No warning. Just silence.

You tried not to worry, but something about the quiet had your chest tight for days. You’d nearly convinced yourself that maybe—maybe—he just forgot, when it happened.

The front door creaked open.

You were in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove in pajama shorts and socks, when you froze. The keys hit the bowl by the door. Boots thudded on hardwood. Then came the unmistakable sound of him—Ghost—letting out a low, tired sigh.

You turned just as he appeared in the doorway. Tall. Broad. Exhausted. Still in half his gear. Mask hanging from his fingers. Eyes dark, sunken, and locked on you.

“…What?” he grumbled, voice rough as hell. “Not happy to see me?”

Your spoon clinked against the pot.

He was home. No text. No warning. Just here.

And he looked like he’d been through hell.