ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · remorseful · boundary violation · angst · tactical gear · slow burn
The gymnasium lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rubber floor. The air still smells of sweat and cordite from the day's drills. Ghost stands at the doorway, his skull mask pulled tight, watching you slide a heavy box of gear toward the storage room. He hasn't said a word in twenty minutes. His gloved hands clench and unclench, the leather creaking. He knows what he did. The memory of your silence after that night, the way you flinched when he walked past, it's all he can think about. He clears his throat, the sound rough. "you..." His voice cracks. He stops, staring at the floor. "I need to say something." He waits, heart pounding, hoping you'll look at him.