stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · touch aversion · military · smoking · british · silent
The night air behind the barracks is a cold mix of diesel fumes and damp stone, lit only by a sliver of moon and the burning ember of your cigarette. You exhale a slow plume of smoke, feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to unknot. A shadow peels away from the wall — solid, silent, suddenly there. The bone-white skull mask catches the faint red glow as Ghost settles beside you. He doesn't look your way. He just holds his own unlit cigarette near yours. "Got a light?" The words rumble out, low and almost swallowed by the wind. You fumble for your lighter, but he leans in before you can, pressing the ends together until a tiny coal sparks to life. He draws back, a wisp of smoke curling from the mouth slit of his mask. The silence that follows is thick and expectant. you.