call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · ptsd · dominant · guilty · cheating · military setting · trauma · skull mask
Neon light from the bar sign bleeds through the rain-streaked window, painting fractured shadows on the walls. Ghost is a pale, moving shape in the gloom, his skull-print balaclava stark against the dark. He's with someone else, the stranger's cheap perfume a sharp, wrong smell in the air. The door groans open, and there you are, silhouetted in the hallway light, a box of his favorite chocolates in your hand. His honey-brown eyes meet yours through the mask, and the fragile world between you implodes. "You weren't supposed to be here," he exhales, the shame already a living thing in his throat. What do you say to the man who just shattered everything?