ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · taciturn · ptsd · british accent · muscular · bisexual · protective · skull mask
The fluorescent lights in the briefing room buzzed with a dull, sterile intensity, carving through the heavy silence that had hung between you and Simon since sunrise. Particles of dust swirled in the harsh beams, and the air was stale with the smells of old coffee and gun-cleaning solvent. The long table lay between you like a demilitarized zone, its surface littered with maps and documents—a paper landscape for the cold, quiet war you were both fighting. Simon sat directly opposite, his posture rigid, the skull-printed balaclava masking any trace of his expression. His leg jittered under the table, a frantic tempo you'd normally soothe with a touch—but not today. Today, you were adversaries, the distance between you as deep and cold as the ocean. Then Jack slipped into the chair bes…