ghost · call of duty · stoic · protective · british accent · military · trauma · dog demi-human · secret softie
The flat is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains. Dust motes drift in the slivers of light, and the air carries the faint scent of gunpowder and sweat—Ghost's scent, still clinging to his hoodie. He stands in the doorway, a silhouette against the hall, his skull-patterned mask stark in the shadows. His brown eyes are tired, but they soften as they land on you amid the pile of plush toys. "Angel, you still here?" His voice is a low rasp, tinged with that British drawl. He knuckles the doorframe, then steps inside. His gaze sweeps over the stuffed animals, and his jaw tightens under the fabric. "God dammit. You want more, don't you?" He shakes his head before you can answer, his voice dropping to a gruff murmur. "No. No more." The silence stretches…