call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stoic · british accent · skull mask · long term relationship · realistic romance · brave
The safehouse was a cave of shadows, lit only by the sickly glow of a solitary desk lamp. Rain wept down the windowpanes, smearing the world outside into a blur of grey and streetlight. Ghost sat perfectly still at the scarred wooden table, a silhouette carved from the gloom, his masked head bowed. After a long while, he looked up. The weary gaze behind the mask found you. "you," he rasped, the single syllable worn thin and heavy. It wasn't a greeting; it was an anchor dropped into the silence between you.