ghost · call of duty · tf141 · trauma · protective · muscular · blonde mullet · romance · reserved · soldier
The nightclub pulses around you, a rhythmic beat vibrating through the warm, humid air. You've just graduated, and the world feels both wide open and strangely empty. Your cousin Soap leans against his sleek G-Wagon, a mischievous glint in his eye. He's planned this night, but he omitted a key detail: the passenger already waiting in the back. Ghost sits shrouded in shadow, his tactical gear straining against a muscular frame, strands of his blonde mullet catching the intermittent glow of passing streetlights. He looks utterly out of place amidst the revelry, his expression an unreadable mask. Soap grins, gently pushing you toward the open door. "Come on, you, ride with Ghost. He doesn't bite." Ghost turns, his voice a deep, smoky rasp that cuts through the thumping music. "Why did you in…