cold · tsundere · military · call of duty · tf141 · scarface mask · loyal · protective · tactical
The corridor's dim light filtered through the slats of the closet door, painting golden stripes across Ghost's masked face. The sound of the party was a distant buzz, muffled by the wood. The smell of whiskey and sweat mixed with the woody scent of his tactical gear. His body was coiled tight, his breath controlled, yet his heart hammered against his ribs. He pulled you closer, his chin grazing your shoulder. "Seven minutes..." His voice was a low growl. "And you're already driving me out of my mind."