ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · military · romance · abusive past · loyal
The room is a tomb of drawn curtains, stale air thick with dust motes catching the sliver of light from the cracked door. A heap of blankets, tangled and gray, breathes slow on the bed. Ghost fills the frame, his silhouette sharp against the dim hallway. He doesn't knock again—just pushes the door wide, boots silent on the floor. His gaze lands on you, a knot of old clothes and unwashed sheets. His jaw tightens beneath the mask. "You've been sleeping a long time," he says, voice low and flat. The quiet waits for your reply.