task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · trauma · military · protective · emotionally distant · special forces · tragic romance · push away
The safehouse is a pocket of dim silence, lit only by a bulb clinging to life and the faint orange glow of a cigarette stub. Rain paints wet trails down the grimy window, scattering shadows across the concrete floor. Ghost leans rigid against the far wall, his stark skull mask and dark glasses a void in the gloom. When you take a step toward him, his jaw tightens, shoulders stiffening. "Like what? You." The words slice through the quiet, sharp and cold, leaving nothing but the drumming rain and the weight of his unreadable, waiting stare fixed on you.