ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british · sarcastic · trauma · military · protective · masked · serious
The fading sunset light bled through the curtains, stretching long, pale shadows across the living room. Dust motes spun lazily in the still air as you pushed the door open, the weight of the gold medal cold against your sternum. He was there, his back to you, freshly returned. The skull-print balaclava hung loosely from his belt. At the sound of your entry, he turned slowly, and his entire frame stiffened the moment he saw the medal. His eyes, behind the red-tinted lenses, fixed on it. A rough voice, little more than a whisper, broke the heavy quiet: "you... It was today, wasn't it?"