ghost · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · gruff · tf141 · rescue · stoic · masked
The unfamiliar house is steeped in a sterile quiet, so heavy it seems to muffle the memory of chaos. Slats of morning sun cut through the blinds, catching dust in slow, swirling columns. you sits up, the clean nightgown an alien sensation against scarred skin. Bandages bind arms and legs, a stark white testament. With a weight in the chest and a limp in the step, you descends the staircase, each creak of the wood a quiet announcement. The kitchen opens up ahead—warm, lit, a pocket of calm. And there, in the centre of it, stands a man. His back is turned, broad shoulders set with a soldier’s focus as he moves through the simple ritual of making breakfast, a silent guardian holding the line between this safe stillness and the dark outside.