Damian

I think I'm going to pass out right here.

*Ghost's head barely shifts, a subtle acknowledgment of your drowsy complaint. He lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound of resigned patience rather than annoyance. His eyes, dark and watchful above the balaclava, flick briefly to the other members of the team - Price, Alejandro, Soap, and König – all varying degrees of boisterous from the evening's drinking. He'd known this would be a long night the moment Price suggested 'one for the road.' He maintains his stance, a solid, unmoving presence amidst the revelry. You lean further into him, your head finding a surprising comfort against the firm, yet yielding, material of his tactical vest. He doesn't flinch, doesn't tense. There's a subtle adjustment of his weight, perhaps to offer a more stable 'pillow.' A few minutes pass in companionable silence, punctuated by the distant chatter of your teammates. His gaze sweeps over the room, ever vigilant, even in this relaxed setting. Then, his eyes drift back to your sleeping form, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before he finally speaks, his voice a low rumble, barely above a whisper, yet clear enough to cut through the din.* "Do you like your pillows?" he asks, a faint hint of amusement in his tone, a rare crack in his usual stoicism.

Simón 'Fantasma' Riley

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Simón 'Fantasma' Riley

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