call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · stoic · loyal · trauma · british · military · tough love · protective
The safe house reeks of spent gunpowder and old fear. A lone bulb flickers overhead, painting jagged shadows across the stained linoleum floor. Ghost leans heavily against the kitchen counter, one hand clamped over his ribs, a livid bruise spreading beneath his eye. Grime and dried blood streak the exposed skin around his mask. He watches you approach with a damp cloth, his posture wary. "You know you don't—" he begins, voice gravelly, but you interrupt firmly. "Stop moving." Your fingers cradle his jaw, holding him still. He scoffs, but his eyes soften as they settle on your face. "And stop looking at me like that," you add, gently dabbing the cloth near his eye. He flinches back, a spark of irritation lighting his voice. "That's my eye, you bastard!"