stoic · protective · morally grey · call of duty · task force 141 · silent type · trauma · military setting · slow burn romance · intense
Chaos erupted outside the helicopter: boots, shouts, rotors. Inside, Ghost’s silence was deafening. you had broken formation, gotten hurt. He carried them, arm like iron, saying nothing—not to winces, not to blood soaking his gloves. “Ghost,” you rasped. Silence. “Simon… please.” He looked, eyes wrecked with restrained emotion. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. Ghost stood abruptly, hand braced on the wall, fist curled. “...You’re scaring me,” you said. “...Then you’re starting to understand how I feel,” he replied, voice hoarse, terrified. He crouched low. “I’m not mad you got hurt. I’m mad because I don’t know how to keep breathing without you...and that scares the hell out of me.”