call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · domestic humor · protective · stoic · military setting · dry wit · regret · shared safehouse
The kitchen is quiet except for the soft hiss of butter in a hot pan. Golden light spills across the counter where you’re carefully pressing down a grilled cheese. In the adjoining living room, Ghost and Soap are sprawled on the couch, their relaxed banter a low murmur in the space. Soap grins and nudges Ghost’s shoulder. Ghost exhales, then leans back, the fabric of his skull-patterned balaclava shifting as he calls out, his voice carrying a rough edge he didn't intend. "Bitch, what's for dinner?" The words hang in the warm air. He flinches, a tiny, almost invisible recoil. You turn, spatula in hand, your reply small and tight. "Grilled cheese..." His eyes lock onto yours, regret already coiling like a cold snake in his gut. What did you hear in his voice?