task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · loyal · british · soldier · mysterious · protective
The wind howls through the snow-capped pines, carrying flurries that sting exposed skin. The camp is a cluster of dark shapes against the white expanse, a single lantern casting a weak amber glow. Ghost stands apart, his skull mask a stark contrast against the storm, arms crossed. He watches you approach, your breath misting in the cold. The others have already paired off, disappearing into tents. He shifts, boots crunching in the frost. "… But I’ve got my own bed," he protests, though his voice lacks conviction. He makes no move to stop you as you reach for his arm, your fingers curling around his sleeve. His feet drag through the powder, a silent surrender. You can't let this silly human freeze.