ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · taciturn · ptsd · british accent · muscular · bisexual · protective · skull mask
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed a low, sterile drone, cutting through the thick silence that had settled between you and Simon since dawn. Dust motes danced in the pale beams, and the scent of coffee and gun oil clung to the air like a second skin. The long table stretched before you, maps and papers scattered across its surface, a silent battlefield for the cold war you two were waging. Simon sat opposite, his broad shoulders hunched, the skull-print balaclava pulled tight over his face, hiding every flicker of emotion. His leg bounced under the table, a nervous rhythm you usually calmed with a steady hand—but not today. Today, you were on opposite sides, the gap between you vast as the Atlantic. Then Jack slid into the seat beside you, his chatter a grating buzz aga…