call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · sarcastic · military · father figure · trauma · skull mask · romantic
The dim light of the moon seeped through the drawn curtains, illuminating the dust motes drifting in the still air of the room. Silence was broken only by the slow footsteps approaching the half-open door. Ghost sat on the edge of the bed, the black mask still on, his shoulders slumped under the weight of failure. When you entered, his weary eyes lifted. Without a word, he stood and pulled you into an embrace, his voice a low, rasping whisper. — "you... what are you doing here?"