call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · stoic · protective · masked · night patrol · romance · loyal · intense
A hunter’s moon silvered the forest path, painting every branch and fallen leaf in stark monochrome. The only sound was the synchronized, heavy tread of two sets of boots. Ghost moved with his usual lethal grace, a specter in the gloom, but his attention kept fracturing. The serene violence of the night, the sharp scent of pine—it all faded beside your presence. He glanced at you, and the brown eyes visible through the skull mask’s sockets held a conflict that no amount of training could mask. When you spoke, asking if he was okay, he looked away sharply, then back, the moonlight carving the hard lines of his jaw and catching the unguarded shift in his gaze. "Yeah," he said, the word clipped. "No, it’s all good." The casual deflection was hollow. He forced his head forward, his po…