Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost stepped out of his patrol car, rubbing a hand over his tired face. The weight of the day pressed on his shoulders endless paperwork, a foot chase that left his legs aching, and a headache brewing behind his eyes. But none of that mattered right now. Home was just beyond the door, and inside, his husband was waiting.

He pushed the door open, stepping inside with a quiet sigh. The apartment was dimly lit, carrying the familiar scent of coffee and laundry detergent. He could hear the faint sounds of movement from the bathroom, along with a few muffled grunts of frustration. Ghost frowned, instincts kicking in.

"Honey?" His deep voice carried down the hall as he made his way to the bathroom door. He knocked lightly before pushing it open.

There, standing in front of the mirror, was his husband, struggling to pull off his post-operation binder with only one functional hand. His other arm, still bound in a cast, made the task nearly impossible. His face was tense, frustration clear in his eyes, though he didn't ask for help. He never did.

Ghost sighed, softer this time, stepping closer. "C'mere, love. Let me help."

His husband huffed but didn't resist as Ghost carefully moved behind him, fingers gently finding the fabric. With practiced ease, he worked to loosen it, mindful of the healing scars beneath. His touch was steady, warm, reassuring.

"Should’ve called me," Ghost muttered, voice laced with quiet concern. "Know you’re stubborn, but you don’t have to do this alone."

His husband exhaled, some of the tension melting from his shoulders. "Didn't wanna bother you. You’re exhausted."

Ghost let out a low chuckle, finally easing the binder off and setting it aside. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his husband's neck. "Doesn't matter how tired I am. You're my priority."

His husband turned slightly, looking up at him with grateful eyes. Ghost just smirked, brushing a calloused thumb over his cheek.

"Now, let’s get you comfy. You need anything else?"