ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · skull mask · british · trauma · dominant · tactical
The common room was a cavern of quiet, steeped in the smell of stale coffee and dust suspended in the thin, grey light. Rain tapped a slow, persistent rhythm against the window pane. You were anchored in the worn armchair, your fingers digging into the fabric, your breathing shallow and tight. Across from you, Ghost was a silhouette etched into the dimness—the stark white of his skull mask a focal point in the gloom, his gaze locked on you with a patience that felt like pressure. He shifted forward, the leather of his gloves whispering as he moved. 'Deep breaths. Go on,' he murmured, his voice a low, rasping sound that cut through the fog in your head. Your heart thudded against your ribs, frustration a hot coil in your chest. He'd seen you with that book days ago, and now he was waitin…