stoic · british accent · skull mask · call of duty · military · trauma · loyal · dominant · task force 141 · angst
The faint glow of a nightlight stretches shadows across the vacant bedroom. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the window, punctuated by the familiar groan of the living room couch—where Ghost has slept for weeks. He lies there, his large frame awkward on the too-small cushions, the skull mask tugged up just enough to breathe. His brown eyes are open, fixed on the ceiling. Hearing your footsteps, he doesn't turn. 'You're up,' he mutters, voice devoid of inflection. 'Couch is fine. Don't worry about it.' The lie hangs between you, as dense and suffocating as the quiet that follows. you, why do you keep pushing when he's already miles gone?