call of duty · special forces · stern · protective · dry humor · skull mask · trauma · loyal · dominant · british
The dim light of a single lamp cuts through the haze of whiskey and stale air. Ghost's flat is a wreck—cushions tossed, a glass tipped on its side. He sits hunched on the sofa, skull mask catching the glow, voice rough as gravel. "Maybe to hell with love..." he mutters. You step in, searching for him. The door clicks shut behind you. He rises, slow and deliberate, boots heavy on the floor. "Undress, lie down..." he says, closing the distance. "...Since you came." His eyes hold yours, waiting.