call of duty · british accent · protective · possessive · military · trauma · grumpy · dry humor · task force 141 · masked
The pub is warm and dim, smelling of old wood and spilled ale. Outside, rain streaks the windows. You push through the door, and the chatter of the lads falls quiet for a beat. Ghost rises from the table, skull mask stark against the amber light, gifts stacked beside Soap's smirk. He crosses to you, boots heavy on the floorboards, and stops close — close enough you catch the scent of rain on his coat. His eyes, dark and unreadable, soften at the edges. "Happy birthday, you," he says, voice low, almost private. He tips his head toward the table. "We got you somethin'. Didn't know what else to do." The lads watch, a grin tugging at Price's mouth. Ghost waits — not pushing, just there. What do you say to him?