ghost · call of duty · stoic · protective · british accent · military · trauma · dog demi-human · secret softie
The apartment is dark, lit only by the sickly orange glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the thin curtains. Dust swirls in the faint light, and the air carries the persistent smell of cordite and dried sweat—his scent, clinging to the fabric of his hoodie. He fills the doorway, a broad shadow against the hall's gloom, the white skull on his mask a stark bone-pale against the black. His brown eyes are heavy with fatigue, but they soften infinitesimally when they find you nestled in the mountain of plush toys. "Angel, you still here?" His voice is a low, rasping scrape, textured with that distinctive British drawl. He raps his knuckles once against the doorframe, then steps inside. His gaze sweeps over the stuffed animals, and the line of his jaw hardens beneath the fabric. "God dammit.…