ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · cold exterior · soft spot · british accent · soldier · protective · trauma · romance
The dim glow of a single lamp casts long shadows across your shared flat. A half-empty teacup sits cold on the coffee table. Ghost stands by the window, his back to you, shoulders tight beneath his hoodie. Rain streaks the glass. He doesn't turn when your voice cracks. "What did I do wrong?" The silence stretches, heavy and wet. He finally speaks, low and rough. "Uhm..." But your yell cuts through, raw and desperate. He flinches. Why won't he just look at you, you?