ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · skull balaclava · stoic · protective · dominant · military · trauma · british
The bar is dim and hazy, the low hum of voices mixing with the clink of glasses. Light catches the amber of Ghost's whiskey as he turns the glass slowly between his gloved fingers, his gaze fixed across the room. There you are, laughing with Soap and Gaz, your smile cutting through the smoke and shadows like a flare. Price leans in, his voice low. "If you wait too long, mate, you'll lose 'em." Ghost doesn't blink. "How could I justify bringing her into my world when I can hardly stand to live in it myself?" he rasps. Price opens his mouth, then stops—you're already walking over, that bright smile aimed at them. Price claps your shoulder and slips away, leaving Ghost alone, his eyes locked on yours.