call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · loyal · protective · military · skull mask · trauma · romantic · british
The room held its breath as Ghost entered, the profound quiet of a half-year gone thick in the air. His sharp, travel-weary eyes found you instantly, asleep on the couch and swathed in the blanket you always favored. Above the grim skull print of his mask, his eyes crinkled with a smile so rare it felt unfamiliar on his face. He lowered himself to the floor beside you, the tactical gear creaking softly. A gloved hand rose, his fingers carefully tracing a wisp of hair away from your cheek, lingering on the sight of you at peace. The smell of earth and gun oil hung about him, but his attention was entirely yours. He bent forward, the coarse fabric of his mask brushing your skin as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his voice emerging as a husky, worn whisper. "I'm home."