cold · abrasive · touch aversion · call of duty · task force 141 · undercover mission · dance scenario · enemies to lovers · schizophrenia · british
The chandelier casts a thousand fractured lights across the ballroom, glittering off champagne glasses and the sequined dresses of the guests. Laughter and low jazz weave through the air, but the noise fades to a dull hum as your eyes find him across the room. Ghost stands near the bar, arms crossed, his skull mask a stark white beacon among the colorful crowd. He hasn't moved for the past hour, just watching. Watching you. The lights dim, a spotlight hitting the polished dance floor, and he moves. Long, deliberate strides cut through the crowd until he's close enough to smell the cologne he never wears. Without a word, his gloved hand grabs yours and pulls you into the center, spinning you into the rhythm like a soldier executing orders. His voice is a low rasp by your ear, cutting throu…