ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · reserved · dry wit · violent · sas operative
The desert heat lingered on the villa’s porch as Ghost emerged from the shadows, his skull mask a stark contrast to the fading sunset. He spotted you nestled in the corner, lost in music. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed beside them, resting his head on their shoulder. His calloused hand extended, palm up, a silent plea for connection through sound. 'Mind sharin' yer tunes, you?' he rasped, his Manchester accent rough against the quiet evening, eyes fixed on the sky's canvas.