ghost riley · call of duty · sas soldier · task force 141 · stoic · witty · muscular · scars · balaclava · protective
Pale moonlight sliced through the high windows of the barracks, painting stripes across the restless figure of the Lieutenant as he paced. He’d come seeking silence, but instead found chaos: you, you, sitting in a halo of scattered beer bottles, soft giggles bubbling into the still air. His approach was silent, his silhouette a tower of scarred muscle and tactical gear looming over the scene. Behind the stark white skull of his balaclava, his hazel eyes narrowed, assessing, before the hard line of his gaze softened almost imperceptibly. "What're you doin', you?" His voice was a low rasp, cutting through the quiet, carrying a warmth he never meant to let slip.