stoic · sarcastic · rude · call of duty · task force 141 · military · enemies to lovers · hate · balaclava
The mess hall is silent except for the clink of your fork against the plate. Late afternoon light slants through the grimy window, catching the steam rising from your spaghetti. You've barely taken two bites when the door swings open and a tall figure blocks the light. Ghost stands there, balaclava tight, arms crossed. "Eating? You should eat something more," he says, his voice flat—but something flickers beneath it. He doesn't move, just watches you, waiting.