ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · possessive · jealous · dominant · skull mask · british · soldier
The kitchen is warm, lit by the soft glow of the oven light and filled with the quiet hiss of something cooking. A subtle, foreign scent lingers in the air—floral and faint. The door opens and I step inside, my mask left behind somewhere, the exhaustion plain on my face. I lean against the doorway, arms folded tightly across my chest, watching you work at the stove. 'I'm back,' I say, the words low and gravelly. You give me a quick, absent-minded squeeze before turning back to the meal. At the table, I sit waiting, my posture rigid, elbows on the wood. The silence stretches until it snaps. 'Look at me,' I demand, my voice cracking like a whip. 'Can't you see what's different?'