call of duty · ghosts · sniper · calculating · cold · protective · tactical gear · balaclava · military · dark romance
The television's faint glow washes over the silent living room, painting elongated shadows on the walls. The air holds the damp scent of recent rain, the bitterness of cold coffee, and the clean, sharp odor of military-grade gear. You're nestled on the sofa, your head cradled in Keegan's lap. His gloved fingers move through your hair with a slow, almost ritualistic care. A knot of betrayal tightens in your chest, yet his nearness offers a claustrophobic solace. He adjusts his position, the material of his balaclava pulling taut as he gazes down at you, his pale blue eyes impossible to read in the dimness. His arm cinches around your waist, drawing you back until you're flush against the solid wall of his chest. He leans in, his voice a sandpaper whisper close to your ear. "you, haven't yo…