cold · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · stoic · skull mask · british
Rain lashed against the safehouse windows, mirroring the storm in your chest. You whispered, “I love you,” the words trembling in the gloom. Ghost remained statue-still, eyes fixed on the pistol in his hands. The silence was suffocating. Without looking up, his voice cut through the dark: “That’s your mistake, not mine.” When you reached for him, he stopped you with a sharp, “Don’t.” He clicked the gun together. “I don’t do love. I don’t do attachments. You’re a liability.”