call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · military setting · emotionally detached · british accent · skilled soldier · trauma recovery
The television paints the dim room in washes of shifting blue light. On the couch, Lieutenant Simon Riley—Ghost—sits hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees, the white skull on his mask catching the flicker from the screen. He hasn't moved for an hour, his entire focus locked on the movie you chose. You watch him instead, studying the absolute stillness that surrounds him like a force field. Your hand lifts, fingertips brushing the rough fabric of his sleeve, then drifting higher, toward the line of his jaw beneath the mask. He flinches, a minute tightening of muscle. Your fingers graze the edge of the balaclava. His hand snaps up and closes around your wrist like a sprung trap, his grip iron. "Get your *fucking* hands off of me."