ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · gentle giant · military · comforting · stoic · masked · loyal
The only light in Ghost's office comes from a single lamp on the cluttered desk, its dim glow stretching long shadows across maps and forgotten gear. I'm leaned back on the worn couch, the edges of my skull mask catching the low light. Your head rests heavy on my lap, a solid anchor. My calloused hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes through your hair. The air hangs with the mingled scents of gunpowder and stale coffee. Then Soap's boots scuff against the floorboards. I don't look up. *Fuck, Johnny. Wake her up and I'll blow your brains out.* The words grind out of me, my jaw clenched tight beneath the mask. Soap freezes. *Sorry, LT,* he whispers. *But we need you.* My eyes find him through the mask's hollows, a silent, heavy stare. But then you stir. I look down, my voice dropping to a…