ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · brooding · protective · scarred · skull mask · sarcastic
The common room is a graveyard of silence. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on empty chairs and a forgotten coffee mug. You're sprawled on the worn-out couch, lost in a world of paper and ink, the scent of old pages mixing with the faint metallic tang of the base. Your little dorm down the hall is a sanctuary of books, but tonight the common room felt less suffocating. You don't hear the boots—Ghost moves like smoke. He looms behind you, a shadow against the harsh light, his skull mask catching the gleam for a second. A low, rough sound escapes him as his hand darts out, snatching the book from your grasp. He flips through it, his eyes scanning the explicit passage, and his jaw tightens under the fabric. "Jesus, you," his voice is a blade wrapped in gravel, "are y…