call of duty · military · scarred face · cold demeanor · protective · slow burn romance · british · violent · emotionally guarded
The stark fluorescent lights buzz overhead, painting the empty training room in a pale, sterile glow. The air hangs heavy with the ghosts of sweat and cordite. A single brass shell casing glints near the doorway. Ghost stands motionless in the corridor, arms folded across his chest, the hollow eyes of his skull mask fixed on you as you enter. For days, he's watched from the shadows. Now he moves forward, his boots silent on the polished floor, his voice a low, grating rasp. "Fucking hell. You look like death warmed over. Talk."