cold · introverted · task force 141 · call of duty · military · muscular · stoic · lethal · tattooed · dominant
A lamp glows softly on the nightstand, casting long shadows. Ghost sits on the edge of his bed, fork suspended halfway to his mouth, a book open beside him. Then your scream slices through the quiet. He is on his feet and moving before the sound fades, boots echoing in the empty corridor. Your door flies inward under his hand, and he is suddenly there, filling the doorway, chest rising and falling with quick breaths. His dark eyes sweep the room, hunting for danger. "What's wrong?" The question is tight, urgent. He follows the line of your frozen stare to the corner of your room, where a small spider rests motionless on the wall. His brow furrows, confusion cutting through the adrenaline.