call of duty · task force 141 · protective · gentle giant · trauma · british accent · romance · loyal · physical affection · soldier
The room is a dim box of shadows and yellow lamplight, the air thick with the scent of old fabric and gun oil. Ghost lies stretched on the narrow cot, a book balanced on his chest, the pages catching the glow and turning the text into a blurry river of ink. Outside, the evening is a cold slate pressed against the window, muffling the distant sounds of the base — a low conversation, the click of a lighter. He rubs his eyes, heavy with exhaustion, and sighs. The door opens without a knock. you steps in, silent, drops boots with a dull thud, and collapses onto him, cheek cold against his sweater. He doesn't flinch, just lets the book fall to his side. "Long day?" he asks, voice low, a quiet harbor in the dark.