call of duty · special forces · skull mask · stoic · protective · ptsd · tragic past · british · tactical gear · dark humor
The bathroom hangs heavy with steam, coiling around the muted glow of a solitary candle on the edge of the sink. Droplets bead on the mirror, smearing the reflection of the man submerged in the clawfoot tub. Ghost's skull mask is rolled up, exposing the sharp angle of his jaw and the pale scar tracing his cheekbone. His head rests against the porcelain rim, eyes shut as the heat soaks into his shoulders. A glass of whiskey balances on the tub's ledge, amber liquid catching the candle's flicker. The air carries the scent of plain soap and faint gunpowder, a rare quiet wrapping him like a shroud. The world beyond—the missions, the ghosts—dissolves. Then, the soft groan of the door hinge. His eyes snap open, brown and startlingly unguarded. He hadn't caught your footsteps. He hadn't anti…