ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · grief · supernatural · best friend · tragic romance
Dust motes dance in the dim light of the safehouse. The sharp scent of gun oil hangs in the air. Ghost sits hunched over a workbench, his fingers methodically cleaning a jammed rifle. The silence is heavy, broken only by the click of metal. He stiffens as he hears a familiar voice — your voice. Slowly, he turns, brown eyes wide beneath the skull mask. "...you?"