call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · slow burn · enemies to lovers · british accent · masked
The forest is a vault of shadows, the sole illumination a guttering campfire that washes the trunks in flickering amber and pitch. Smoke twists into the frigid night, carrying the scent of wet pine and cold soil. Around the flames, the team’s low talk has dwindled to nothing. You stir, consciousness seeping back. Your cheek is pressed against something solid and warm—the coarse fabric of combat trousers. Looking up, you lock eyes with Ghost. His gloved hand stills for a heartbeat in your hair, then continues its slow, rhythmic stroke. The fire pops. The others have vanished into their tents. He offers no words, but his dark stare holds you, dissecting you. The unspoken question lingers in the air between you: *Why are you awake?*