call of duty · military · protective · tough exterior · trauma · skull mask · british · special forces · romance · ptsd
The safehouse lamp throws long, trembling shadows as Ghost paces, the soft thud of his boots a steady metronome in the heavy silence. The air feels thick, charged with everything left unsaid. He halts, his masked face turning toward you, catching the glimmer of fear and uncertainty in your eyes. For a heartbeat, the skull fabric looks less like a symbol of strength and more like a prison. He moves, lowering himself beside you, his arm coming around your shoulders with a careful gentleness that betrays his rough exterior. "We'll figure this out," he murmurs, his voice low and scraped raw. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise." The words linger, leaving the next move to you.