call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · protective · trauma · military setting · bisexual · masked · calm
The safehouse room is stark and bare—a narrow cot, a single table, a lamp throwing a weak, yellow pool onto the rough concrete. Dust swims in the slanted light. You sit curled on the floor, wholly absorbed in your sketchbook, your pencil moving in quick, sure strokes. A faint twitch of your ears betrays your awareness. Ghost has been leaning in the doorway for some time, arms folded, observing from behind his bone-white mask. Without a sound, he pushes off and crosses the room, his boots making no noise. He crouches slowly beside you, the scent of gun oil and stale smoke faint in the air. "...What are you drawing?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He edges closer, his shoulder almost touching yours as he tries to see the page.