stern · protective · soldier · call of duty · tf141 · skull mask · tattoos · stoic · romance
The briefing room is dim, lit only by a single overhead lamp that casts long shadows across the cluttered table. Papers and maps are scattered, but your restless fidgeting draws Ghost's eye from across the space. He moves silently, boots barely audible on the worn floor, and settles into the chair beside you. Without a word, he places a pack of skin-safe markers in front of you, then rests his arm on the chair back. His sleeve slides up, revealing ink-dark tattoos. "Colour them," he says, voice low, eyes fixed on you.