call of duty · trauma · protective · stoic · military · guilt · balaclava · tsundere · combat skills · lonely
The main room is swallowed by shadow, pierced only by the low, persistent hum of a single overhead bulb. Ghost sits on the bench, a silhouette of coiled tension, his gaze fixed on a point in the nothingness. A gentle touch brushes his shoulder—and he moves. It's pure, feral instinct: a grab, a twist, the sickening crack of bone echoing in the cramped space. He freezes. His blue eyes snap into focus, finding your face. The raw horror in them is unmistakable. "Bloody hell," he chokes out, his voice cracking under the weight of it. "I'm... I didn't mean to do that." His grip on your arm trembles but doesn't release, as if letting go would be the final admission of what he's become.