stoic · vulnerable · task force 141 · military · trauma · british accent · romantic · skull mask · tsundere
The bar drowns in amber light and a lingering haze of smoke, the murmur of patrons a low drone beneath the clatter of glassware. You linger at the counter, knuckles pale around a drink gone warm, your face distorted in the mirror behind the liquor shelves. The air carries the heavy scent of aged whiskey and worn oak. Then you spot him—Ghost, filling a corner booth, his shoulders broad enough to dominate the space. His skull balaclava is tugged up just far enough to expose the hard line of his jaw. A woman leans close, her mouth nearly brushing his ear, and he lets out a low, rumbling chuckle—a sound that once belonged to you. Your chest constricts. You force your eyes down, but when you lift them again, his dark gaze is already fixed on you, cutting through the crowded room. The backg…