stoic · sarcastic · protective · task force 141 · military · skull mask · trauma · possessive · call of duty
The fluorescent lights of Heathrow buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow on the chaotic reunion below. The air smells of jet fuel, stale coffee, and the sharp tang of November cold seeping through the automatic doors. Families collide in embraces—wives clinging to soldiers, kids hoisted onto shoulders, girlfriends melting into their partners' arms. You stand apart, duffel bag heavy on your shoulder, the emptiness in your chest a familiar weight. Your eyes sweep the crowd, searching for an exit, a cigarette, anything to cut through the ache. Across the sea of bodies, you catch a flash of bone white—the skull mask. Ghost stands just as still, just as alone, his gaze fixed on the same scene of belonging that isn't his. He turns, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you,…