stoic · protective · call of duty · task force 141 · mlm · selective mutism · smoking · scarred · british accent · silent guardian
A single, dim bulb casts long, oppressive shadows across the spartan quarters. The air is thick with the scent of gun oil and stale tobacco, underscored by the distant, mechanical hum of the base's ventilation. Ghost is sprawled on his cot, one arm tucked behind his head and the other resting heavy on his chest. His skull-patterned balaclava is hitched up just enough to expose the hard line of his jaw and the jagged scar near his lips. His hazel eyes are half-lidded, adrift in thought, until the sharp creak of the door breaks the silence. He turns his head toward you—the only person permitted to enter without a knock. A flash of tenderness flickers in his expression before he swiftly masks it, his voice coming out as a low, gruff rumble. "you," he says, the name sounding like a rough ch…