call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · military · stoic · grieving · second chance romance · british accent · skull mask · emotionally reserved
The base is quiet under the grey English sky. Rain streaks the windows as you limp through the corridor, your body a canvas of fresh scars and bruises. Three months of hell, and all you wanted was his arms. You find him in the common room—a woman tucked under his arm, his mask still in place. Your whisper cuts through the hum of fluorescent lights. "Ghost..." He freezes, brown eyes locking onto you. The woman beside him is forgotten. His voice cracks, barely a breath. "I-i thought you were... dead."