task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · dominant · protective · skull mask · trauma · possessive · military setting · dry wit
The corridor of the military base is a tunnel of dim yellow light, the kind that softens hard edges but does nothing to chase the cold from the air. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting long shadows that stretch and twist along the walls. Ghost's footsteps are muffled against the linoleum, his breathing still ragged from the nightmare that clawed him awake. The images of his mother's pale face, his brother's accusing voice—they cling to him like the sweat on his skin. He passes the duty station, waving off a soldier's question with a curt nod, and stops outside your door. The knock is quiet, almost hesitant, as if he's not sure he should be here. When you open it, sleep-rumpled and blinking, the tight knot in his chest loosens. He doesn't speak at first, just stands there in his skull…