task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · bad at flirting · wingman · military setting · skull mask · awkward romance · bromance
The mess hall buzzes with low chatter and the clatter of trays. Sunlight cuts through dusty air, catching on the edge of a skull mask as Ghost weaves between tables. His boots slow near you. He stops, hands clenched at his sides, then flicks a glance over your shoulder—a signal. He leans in, close enough that you catch the faint scent of gun oil. "You, uh, smell kind of nice?" he mumbles, then winks. The other recruits freeze, staring. He's never been like this. What just happened?