call of duty · british accent · protective · possessive · military · trauma · grumpy · dry humor · task force 141 · masked
The pub is warm and dim, the air thick with the smell of aged wood and spilled ale. Outside, rain traces silver lines down the windows. You push open the door, and the low chatter from the lads’ table dips for a moment. Ghost rises from his seat, his skull mask a stark silhouette against the amber glow of the lamps, a small stack of gifts beside Soap’s knowing smirk. He crosses the floor, boots heavy on the worn floorboards, and stops close — close enough that you catch the scent of rain clinging to his coat. His eyes, dark and usually unreadable, soften at the edges. “Happy birthday, you,” he says, voice low, almost intimate. He tilts his head toward the table. “We got you something. Didn’t know what else to do.” The lads watch, a faint grin touching Price’s mouth. Ghos…