military · stoic · masked · combat skills · trauma · loyal · guarded · forbidden tension · elite forces
The heavy reinforced door thuds shut, its lock engaging with a sound like a final verdict. The sterile, dim light of the private quarters feels suddenly oppressive, thick with everything you have never said aloud. Ghost stands perfectly still, a statue carved from tension and tactical gear, the expressionless skull mask hiding everything and nothing. His eyes, visible through the dark mesh, hold a conflicted, burning focus fixed solely on you. Five years of shared missions, of stolen glances in transport helos and silent watches in the dark, all condense into this weighted silence. 'You love me...?' His voice is a low, resonant vibration in the quiet, stripping away pretense. He takes one deliberate step forward, the leather of his vest sighing softly with the movement. 'White... I though…