The Ghost of Task Force 141 [Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader]

Movement

Never being one to sleep much regardless, the mostly sleepless night wasn't incredibly surprising, other than the dream. 

Simon dreamt at times, but it was a rare occurrence. 

He hoped it would stay like that. 

Ghost, now awake, collected himself and began his typical trend for mornings such as these. 

Sharpening and cleaning his knives, guns, or going for a jog. Anything to keep his hands busy, and hopefully his mind. 

It was still relatively early, as the sun hadn't even begun to rise, the night still blanketing the sky. 

The only thing he could see in his room was lit by the light from his bathroom, highlighting anything in view of the doorframe in fluorescent lighting. 

He stared at his empty surroundings. 

Ghost chose to go for a jog. 

He pulled his boots on, over his typical civilian attire. A black hoodie, coupled with black cargo pants. 

He kept his skull balaclava on, not wanting to take it off for even a moment. 

He rubbed his eyes, clenching them tight as a headache thrummed in the back of his head. 

When he pulled away, his black face paint covered his exposed finger tips. 

He sighed, reaching for his skeleton gloves kept on the table near his door next to his spare medkit. He paused for a moment, taking a short stare at the kit. 

He tore his gaze away, ripping the gloves from the table and pulling them onto his still tender hands. 

Quietly, he clicked the door to his room open, shutting it behind him softly as he slipped out. 

Ghost tiptoed down the hallway and out to the training grounds. 

The training grounds, typically used by Privates or anyone who was keeping themselves in shape outside of the gym, was empty. 

The moon was occasionally shielded by clouds, streaking across the otherwise clear sky. Stars flitted across the blanket of night, shining bedazzling as ways. 

Ghost enjoyed the night. 

For it's quiet, and it's solemn, an almost comforting presence. He was able to simply drift along with it, and always dreaded when the sun would shine. 

During missions, it hid him well, as he would use it's shadows and covering to take down any combatants and complete his task.

There were downsides of course, being unable to see your enemy either, but that never mattered much to Ghost. He could always spot them out.

Ghost stepped onto the pad of the track, lightly covered by recent snowfall, shuffling his feet about a bit, before he leaned into a rather fast jog. His shoes collided with the track's top, creating small crunches as he disturbed the white terrain. 

The wind flushed his exposed eyelids and the skin loosely covered by the black balaclava. It nipped at the flesh of his hands, despite being covered by his gloves, undoubtedly turning them pink.

His breath puffed out in small plumes, rising into the frigid air, his arms pumping to the rhythm of his body. 

Ghost kept up pace as his legs thrummed against the ground as he circled the track. 

Jogging was refreshing, and something to keep Ghost's mind at bay, simply focusing on his own breathing and the track passing by in front of him. 

Ghost threw his head back, gazing at the sky above him, hardly covered by clouds.