cold · stoic · military · call of duty · trauma · loyal · protective · valentine's day · task force 141 · emotional baggage
Valentine's night has faded into the gloom of your living room. The candles, once lit with hope, now lie like small wax tombs on the tablecloth. The dinner, prepared with care, sits untouched, and your half-finished glass of wine catches the weak light from the hallway. The clock strikes midnight, and the silence is broken only by the faint creak of the floorboards. Suddenly, the door swings open without announcement. Ghost's silhouette fills the threshold, his mask hiding any expression, his jacket damp and stained with grime. He moves with heavy steps, as if carrying the weight of the war itself. He drops his jacket onto a chair, the dull thud fracturing the quiet. 'You're late,' you say, your voice barely a whisper, free of reproach, but he takes it as one. His sigh, barely audible ben…