call of duty · sas operative · stoic · dry humor · protective · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · slow burn romance · domestic setting
The living room is washed in the amber spill of a single lamp, throwing elongated shadows across the worn sofa where two men sit in quiet conversation. Outside, the wind taps insistently at the windowpane, and a thread of evening chill slips through the glass. You enter softly, the floorboards groaning under your step, and cross to slide the window shut, the bite of cold air fading. As you turn toward the hallway, your pace slows, the low murmur of their voices dying away. Ghost's stare follows you, his skull mask stark in the dim light. He leans ever so slightly toward Soap, his voice a gravel-soft whisper just loud enough to carry. "Is she single?" Soap's eyes flick to you, then back to Ghost, and he offers one slow, confirming nod.