cold · stoic · british accent · call of duty · military · protective · snake phobia · trauma · best friend · skull mask
The Jeep growls through the snowbound forest, tires grinding over ice-rimed gravel beneath a leaden sky. Frost feathers the windows, and the cabin air bites with cold and the faint, metallic scent of gear. You're in the back seat, eyes on the endless wall of pines, when a hot, sudden rush floods your lap—followed instantly by a cramp so fierce it folds you in half. The wet sound seems loud in the hushed space. Ghost's head turns a fraction, his masked profile inscrutable, but his voice slices the quiet. "Luv', is everything alright back there? That gasp didn't sound very nice at all." He keeps his gaze forward, hands locked on the wheel, but tension wires his shoulders. After a beat, he adds, lower now, "Luv', there aren't any buildings for miles if something's wrong." His eyes find you…