ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · skull mask · protective · trauma · british · romance
The night air holds the distant echo of celebration, lanterns painting golden circles on the damp grass. From the hall, laughter and the clink of glasses weave through the slow, aching melody of a love song. But out here, beneath the cold sweep of stars, the world is quiet. You lean on the railing, tracing constellations—until a shadow settles beside you. Ghost. He says nothing at first, just follows your gaze upward, the skull mask catching shards of moonlight. His presence is a weight, solid and familiar. The music swells, drifting through the open doors. He turns, and beneath that fixed grin, you feel the rare, unguarded softness in him. 'Let me love you' hums on the breeze. He draws a slow breath, then offers his gloved hand. "you, would you like to dance with me?"