Red Rooms I Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

72. Home

Warning: Massive enourmous domesticalification of pookie bear 🧎🏻‍♀️

♡♡♡

The first night living with Ghost was horrible. You could barely bat an eye, flashbacks of the burglary catching up on you once you did dare to fall asleep.

Middle of the night. A sleep deprived you. No Ghost in sight.

The whole apartment was dark, the only lightsource being the city outside the enourmous window. It did have something calming; being able to watch the city from your bed on the top floor like that. You watched some cars driving through the streets. Lights in other people’s homes turning on or off. Taking in all impressions the city at night had to offer.

Coming from the living space you could hear the soft, distant click-clacking of what will probably be a focused Simon Riley working on his laptop. You took in those sounds as well, the pace of his writing. It gave you the chance to imagine his hands. Those long fingers precisely sliding over the keyboard. Typing something you’d never ever understand. You tried to watch what he was doing once, back when you were at his family’s house, but there was no point with all the military lingo that he used.

Every now and then there’d be a deep sigh heard.

You peeked upwards and to the open area, trying to see him but all you could detect in the darkness was the faint light coming from his laptop, since his loft did have a few corners and pillars. His couch was placed exactly next to one, making it hard to see him from where the bed is placed.

So you try to fall asleep again.
You close your eyes.
You count sheeps.
You scroll on your phone.
Nothing.

With an annoyed grunt you get up and stomp towards the couch, the man himself tilting his head at your entrance before you slumped down onto the couch next to him. He looked puzzled when eyeing you but said nothing, wrapping his arm around your shoulders so that you could lay your head on his chest. You watched his screen, it was all a bunch of numbers. That’s it.

“What is this, Simon…” you ask in a sleepy, teasing tone.

“Some might call it hacking…” his deep voice rumbles through the room in a quiet manner. You could tell that he was in dire need of some rest.

“Who are you hackin…”

He reached for a small water bottle and took a long sip, placing it back onto the small table next to him and proceeding to encode the numbers on his screen.

“Simon,” you poke his side.

He had his hand on his lips; he’d do that sometimes when he’s thinking hard about something.

“You really think I can go into detail here, love?”

“I just can’t sleep…” you pout, leaning more into him.

He humms.

“…, makes two of us.”

You nod and get up silently, Simon does not move one bit. Sits solid like a goddamn stone.

Once you come back, you throw the whole duvet onto the couch, covering him with it and sneaking underneath the heavy fabric.

“Do you mind?” you ask as you let your head peek out the duvet-salad you got yourselves into.

“I don’t,” he murrs, still focusing hard on his numbers. You got cozy in there and leaned back against his strong arm, feeling it twitch whenever he’d start typing something. With the soft noise of his typing and his steady breathing right next to you, you finally found some peace. And you felt like you could actually fall asleep here.