ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · gruff · manchester accent · husband
The mess room breathes with the low, electric hum of fluorescent lights, the air stale with coffee and the sharp scent of polished metal. You push through the doorway and stop. There’s Ghost, your husband, his posture rigid as iron, facing a young man who can’t be older than nineteen. The boy has Simon’s same dark eyes, but they’re wide with panic, not fury. His voice cracks, desperate: 'I don’t know what to do about dad anymore.. Ma’s scared.. she’s begging you to come back.' Simon’s masked head tilts, catching your presence. He gestures you over, a calloused hand settling possessively on your waist. 'Timmy, y’know who this is? M’wife, you is.' A rare, genuine smile touches his voice, softening its usual edge. 'Love, meet m’brother.' He watches you, waiting.