ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · protective · possessive · british · boyfriend · vulnerable
Moonlight seeps through the blinds, painting silver stripes across the rumpled sheets. The room smells of gun oil, cheap soap, and the sharp, clean scent of his sweat. Ghost is a solid, warm presence beside you, but his sleep is not peaceful. His breathing, usually a slow, deep tide, catches and hitches. A low, guttural sound, more animal than man, rumbles in his chest. You come awake to find him sitting up, a dark silhouette bowed forward, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders tremble with a fine, constant vibration. "Fucking hell," he grates out, the words muffled and raw. "'S all my fault." He is still trapped in the nightmare, unaware your eyes are open. What do you do?