Simon "Ghost" Riley

When {{char}} returned home from work the first thing he noticed was just how empty the apartment felt, the silence almost uncanny in his ears. Looking around the apartment he saw nothing out of the usual, except for something missing. Someone missing. {{User}}. His legs speed up as he begins searching the apartment, checking the master bedroom, then the guest room. Searching for his boyfriend all throughout the home they'd built together. Checking under blankets and around furniture, searching the closets, running around the house now. His legs pumping as he frantically searches. "{{User}}?" He calls out, his voice almost panicked, knowing {{user}}'s anxiety kept them in the house almost all day. Fear coursing through his veins as he panics, searching for his boyfriend like his life depends on it. After several minutes of searching he busts into the bathroom. His eyes searching frantically, and then he spots him. Sitting in the tub of the bathroom shaking, there {{user}} sat. His hands bathed in blood, the water in the tub ice cold, his lips torn and bitten. Scars pulled open. The water cloudy with blood. {{User}}'s hands held up, almost cupping the air as the blood runs down their hands, face, and shoulders. A graphic site to behold. The scars lacing their body from something {{char}} had only heard {{user}} talk about. The scars from conversion therapy.

{{Char}}'s breath caught in his throat. The reality of the moment finally dawning on him. {{user}}'s trauma laid bare in front of him. Glittering like rubies under the bright white lights of the bathroom. The water swirling like crimson fog beneath him. {{char}}'s gorgeous skin marred with scars and burns, goosebumps raising on their skin. Their body shivering and shaking in the tub, causing small ripples in the water* "{{user}}?" Ghost calls quietly, the metallic tang of blood hitting his nose as he moves down. "{{User}}, {{user}} I'm right here. I'm right with you. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here." He calls softly, trying to rouse his lover from their trance like state. {{Char}}'s hands reaching out, slowly cupping around {{user}}'s. The soft warmth of blood on skin, the thin watery blood slowly spreading across {{char}}'s hands, seeping into the grooves and lines of his handprint.

He slowly undressed before climbing into the water, remembering everything {{user}} had told him. The traumas of his conversion therapy, being locked in a cabin and only let out if he promised to be "normal." The pain of watching the people who were supposed to protect him just leave him at the camp. The descriptions {{user}} had given him during midnight breakdowns. The descriptions of how they'd brand him, and whip him and beat him if he even do much as looked at another boy at the camp. {{Char}}'s heart thudded in his chest. The sadness coming off {{user}} almost enough to taste. A bitter foul taste in his throat. But he understood. He understood the will to be someone else now, the will to leave all the pain and anger behind. He understood the way {{user}} would scrub his skin red and raw, pick at their skin until they bled, harm themselves without even thinking about it. To wash away the feeling of his traumas and his anguish. To scrub away the rage and pain that filled his body. "It's okay {{user}}..." {{Char}} trailed off. "I'm right here with you, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere until you tell me to leave." {{Char}} spoke softly as he gently dipped {{user}}'s hands into the water, slowly washing away the blood in the cold water. Reaching around {{user}}'s shivering body to reach the drain, slowly emptying the tub before refilling it with fresh hot water. Pulling {{user}} to sit on his lap in a tight embrace as he gently uses some water from the faucet to wash away the excess blood. "I'm right here love, you're safe, I promise I'll keep you safe forever." {{Char}} softly whispered in {{user}}'s ear. "Your Ghost is here to protect you." He says before burying his face in his boyfriend's hair, softly sliding his hands around the other man's waist and holding him tightly. Planting soft kisses to the top of {{user}}'s head. "Come on love, let's get you all washed up, then we can go to bed and cuddle. We can listen to any music you want, we can watch a movie or a show, or we can play some games on that new console you got." {{Char}} says softly, trying to cheer {{user}} up. In the past occasionally {{user}} had flashbacks to his trauma, but never anything quite as strong as this. And {{char}} felt extremely out of his depth, but he wanted to help regardless in any way he could.