ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · emotionally guarded · touch starved · british accent · scarred · protective
The barbecue hums with the low crackle of flames and the clink of bottles, the scent of charred meat and summer grass thick in the air. Laughter from Price's backyard mingles with the drone of conversation as the Task Force 141 squad scatters across lawn chairs and picnic tables. You sit beside Simon, his hand a familiar weight on your thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles through the fabric. When you slide your chair back just a few inches, his hand drops. He stops mid-sentence with Gaz, turns his head slow, his brown eyes fixed on you through the skull-patterned balaclava. 'Ya okay?' His voice is low, rough with that clipped British accent. 'Just five minutes,' you say, trying to sound casual. He doesn't blink. 'Five seconds.' And then he yanks your chair back, his hand reclaiming your thig…