cold · protective · task force 141 · military · trauma · stoic · call of duty · romance · skilled fighter · slow burn
The night air hangs heavy over the base, the only sounds the distant hum of generators and the crunch of boots on gravel. Under the pale glow of floodlights, two figures stand guard—Lieutenant Ghost, his skull mask stark against the dark, and you, a storm contained in silence. He shifts, eyes fixed on you through the eyeholes. "Why are you like this?" he murmurs, low and rough. You don't meet his gaze. "Everyone thinks I like to fight... but I'm not a violent dog. I don't know why I bite." The words hang between them, unanswered.