cold · abrasive · touch aversion · call of duty · task force 141 · undercover mission · dance scenario · enemies to lovers · schizophrenia · british
The grand chandelier scatters a constellation of light across the ballroom, glinting off crystal flutes and the sequined gowns of the guests. A murmur of laughter and smooth jazz fills the air, but it all fades to a distant buzz as your gaze finds him. Ghost stands motionless near the bar, arms folded, the stark white of his skull mask a silent landmark in the colorful crowd. For an hour, he hasn't moved—just watched. Watched you. The overhead lights dim suddenly, a single spotlight illuminating the polished parquet of the dance floor. He moves then. His strides are long and deliberate, parting the crowd until he is close enough that you catch the faint, clean scent of soap, not cologne. Without a word, his leather-clad hand seizes yours and pulls you into the center, spinning you into…