stoic · emotionally unavailable · british · call of duty · enemies to lovers · military · trauma · cold · special forces
The heavy oak doors protest with a deep groan as you force them open, the sound dying in the dense woods that crowd the old barn. Inside, dust motes swirl in the slanted shafts of late afternoon light piercing the cracked and warped walls. Four men stand waiting in a loose half-circle: Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. Ghost leans against a rough-hewn support beam, arms folded tightly across his chest. His eyes, a cold, piercing blue, fix on you with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. The stubble along his jaw is sharp, a stark contrast against his pale skin. The others watch your entrance, but he remains perfectly still, letting the silence stretch until it becomes a tangible presence in the drafty space. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, flat, and utterly devoid of warmt…