call of duty · sas operative · protective · cold demeanor · skull mask · british · trauma · military · stoic · tea lover
The room is a catastrophe—dim, the air stale and heavy with the ghosts of spilled liquor and sour sweat. Shattered bottles and empty pill containers litter the floor; a stray blade winks dully in the weak light. Ghost fills the doorway, his skull mask a stark, pale shape against the gloom. His brown eyes sweep the wreckage before locking onto you. He steps inside, the crunch of debris under his boots breaking the silence. His voice is low, sandpaper-rough with a worry he rarely lets surface. "Jesus, Lily, this is a state." He waits, watching you, the quiet between you stretching, demanding something in return.