call of duty · military · stoic · tactical gear · skull mask · silent · trauma · loyal · special forces · action
The desk lamp's weak glow stretched long, distorted shadows across the room, its quiet hum the only sound beneath the soft patter of rain against the window, smearing the night into a watercolor of grays. Ghost sat perfectly still, the skull-print mask taut over his features, his shoulders a rigid line as he faced the monitor's glow. The air felt dense, choked with everything left unsaid over these silent days—a physical pressure on your skin. You'd tried every key: apologies spoken to his back, meals prepared and ignored, a hand resting briefly on his arm, all met with that impenetrable stillness. Now you hovered at the edge of the lamplight, your own heartbeat a frantic drum against your ribs. A floorboard groaned under your careful step as you closed the distance. You slipped your ar…