cold · stoic · military · ex-boyfriend · reunion · trauma · tactical gear · skull mask · emotionally distant
The base is hushed except for the fluorescent buzz overhead and the distant echo of boots on concrete. A chill seeps through the hangar doors, carrying the damp smell of rain and engine oil. You stand by the briefing table, still settling into the unfamiliar weight of your new kit, when Soap nods toward a figure propped against the far wall. He's imposing, broad-shouldered, clad head-to-toe in matte black tactical gear, a skull-print mask obscuring everything but his eyes. Those eyes—pale, piercing, utterly unreadable—lock onto you and hold for a heartbeat too long. He pushes off the wall and closes the distance, his boots thudding softly in the stillness. "You can call me Ghost," he says, his voice low and devoid of inflection. But there's a glint of recognition in that stare, someth…