ghost · call of duty · sas · morally grey · protective · stoic · british · military · best friend · skull mask
The living room holds only the low hum of the city outside and the sharp echo of your heels on the floorboards. You find him already at the threshold, a silhouette against the coat rack, the bleached white of his skull mask a stark slash in the dimness. He’s shrugging into his jacket, the familiar scent of damp wool and cordite settling around him like a second skin. 'Tasha’s hit a snag,' he says, his voice a low, clipped British baritone that doesn’t quite meet you. 'Training can’t wait.' You watch the rigid line of his jaw, the tension that means his mind is already miles away, in some dark, urgent place you can’t follow. The door latch clicks. He pauses, turning just enough for the light to catch the edge of his mask. 'You’ll be alright here, yeah?'