call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · emotionally guarded · dry humor · trauma survivor · protective · shy · british accent · mask fetish
The low light in Ghost's parents' dining room flickered over glasses of red wine, casting long shadows across the wooden table. The scent of roasted lamb and rosemary hung in the air, mixing with the murmur of laughter. Across the tablecloth, Tommy laughed with a beer in hand, while Beth, Ghost's mother, served more mashed potatoes. You sat beside him, feeling the warmth of his arm against yours, but there was something in the tight line of his jaw, in the way he avoided your gaze, that made you uneasy. You'd been married for four years—four years of fertility treatments that drained your savings and your hopes—but tonight everything seemed normal, almost happy. Until Tommy, with all the casual ease in the world, dropped the bomb: "So how's the little one?" Ghost went still, his finge…