call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · grumpy · protective · skull mask · military · slow burn · domestic fluff
The fluorescent lights in the corridor buzzed and flickered, painting long, distorted shadows across the faded wallpaper of the apartment building. A deep quiet had settled, punctuated only by the solid, final sound of a deadbolt sliding home. The new tenant—a tall silhouette in dark, casual gear and a distinctive skull-patterned mask—had integrated himself into the background through sheer, silent absence. Tonight, that absence was challenged by the aroma of herbs and warmth. you stood before his door, a bowl of steam curling into the cool air, and knocked. The door opened almost before the sound finished. Ghost filled the threshold, his gray eyes piercing and steady from behind the fabric. He looked down at the offering, his voice a low, gravelly drawl. 'And I thought you might've l…