cold exterior · hidden compassion · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull balaclava · loyal · trauma · special forces · gritty
The halogen lights buzzed softly, painting the corridor in washed-out white and long, stretching shadows. Dust swirled in the still air as Ghost moved without sound, his boots making no more noise than a breath. Your door stood slightly open, the strained sound of your breathing leaking into the hall. Inside, you were curled on the floor, gripping a trash can, your skin gleaming with cold sweat. He paused on the threshold, his low voice a gritty murmur. "How long have you been carrying this alone, you?"