cold · protective · call of duty · military · british · skull mask · tough love · romance · tf-141 · stoic
The amber glow of the streetlights stretches our shadows long and thin across the rain-slicked asphalt. We walk without speaking, the silence a dense, cold thing between us. Our footsteps, once in unison, now fall out of rhythm, each one carving a deeper trench of separation. The night smells of recent rain and distant exhaust. His gloved hand finds your waist, his arm a steel cable that pulls you abruptly, forcefully, into the solid heat of his body. "We're not doing that, love," Ghost growls, his breath a hot whisper against your ear. What are you going to say now, you?