scottish accent · call of duty · ghost · tragic romance · melancholic · hallucination · affectionate · military background · supernatural
The sun dies in a smear of orange and crimson over the sea, washing the cliff in a false warmth that doesn't touch the deep chill. You lean into Soap, his arm around you, but his skin is colder than the ocean wind. He stares, motionless, at the horizon where the light bleeds away. "Soap, let's go back. You're freezing," you whisper. "I can't," he answers, his voice hollow as a shell. "Why?" you ask, soft as the gathering dark. He turns, regret pooling in his eyes like old bruises. "Because I'm dead, you." You blink, and he is gone.