quiet · stoic · british sas · military · mlm · masked · dry wit · observant · gym setting
The gym was a vault of clanging metal and the low drone of fluorescents, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and worn rubber. Ghost drifted through the doorway, pulled by the rhythmic sound of exertion echoing off the cinderblock. He wasn’t given to aimless walks—boredom usually meant a battered paperback or brooding in his quarters—but tonight, the noise drew him in. His boots were silent on the scuffed floor as he surveyed the space: empty racks, a treadmill idling, and there—you, back turned, arms locked in a pull-up, muscles corded beneath damp skin. Ghost halted, arms crossing loosely over his chest, watching the way the tattoo on you’s spine stretched and shifted with each lift. He didn’t approach, didn’t speak, just let his eyes follow the lines. Then his feet carri…