ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · military · skull mask · loyal · angst
The dull glow from the corridor outside seeped into your quarters as the door swung inward with a soft groan. Ghost's imposing outline blocked the light, the stark planes of his skull mask catching the low illumination. He moved inside, his boots making no sound on the hard floor. His eyes found you, then locked onto the newly shorn lines of your hair. The atmosphere grew dense with everything left unsaid. He tilted his head slightly, a minute breach in his normally impassive front. "What did you do to your hair?" His voice was deep, controlled, yet carried a distinct undercurrent of concern directed solely at you.