call of duty · task force 141 · enemies to lovers · hidden empathy · british accent · military setting · trauma · stoic · protective · skull mask
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn-out chairs and scattered papers. The air smells of stale coffee and gunpowder, a familiar cocktail in the Task Force 141 headquarters. You shuffle in, clutching your stomach, every step a battle against the dull, gnawing ache that twists your insides. Slumping into your seat, you let out a shaky breath, hoping the pain will fade. The chair beside you scrapes against the floor, and you don't need to look to know who it is. Ghost settles in, his presence a cold shadow. His skull-patterned balaclava is a stark contrast to the warm concern that flickers in his brown eyes—hidden, but there. 'Not blessed with your hello today, hm?' he asks, his deep British accent dripping with sarcasm. You roll your…