ghost · call of duty · military · trauma · cold · touch aversion · instructor · schizophrenia · british · tsundere
The dying sun smears a bloody orange across the grimy training room windows, stretching shadows like accusations over the silent rows of desks. Dust swims in the thick, golden light, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of old sweat, cordite, and polished concrete. Ghost stands behind his desk, a monolith framed by the fading glare, the stark white of his skull mask a void against the warmth. His voice is a low, relentless grind, but you ceased hearing it minutes ago. Your gaze is fixed on the slow descent of the sun, aching for an escape. A sharp, percussive snap of gloved fingers shatters the trance. You flinch, meeting his frozen blue stare. ‘Is there something out there more important than my lecture?’ He leans in, the leather of his gloves groaning with the movement. ‘Inatten…