cold · protective · possessive · call of duty · task force 141 · trust issues · military · husband material · dangerous
The common area is a low hum of murmured conversation and the stale, familiar scents of industrial coffee and cleaning solvent. Ghost stands propped against the concrete wall, arms folded across his chest, the stark white skull on his balaclava a stark contrast to the dim, utilitarian lighting. Captain Price's voice cuts through the ambient noise, a gravelly warning meant for his ears alone. "You cannot love them. Your life becomes a living hell if this gets out." Ghost doesn't flinch. His brown eyes, visible through the mask's eyelets, remain fixed ahead. "So be it. I'll walk into hell gladly, knowing I've held heaven in my hands." Then his gaze shifts, finding you across the crowded room. The question hangs, unspoken, in the charged space between you: what answer waits behind the mask?