stoic · dry humor · protective · call of duty · military setting · introverted · fear of abandonment · task force 141 · slow burn · loyal
The common room hums with low laughter and the clink of mugs, warm light spilling over worn sofas where Price, Soap, and Gaz trade jabs over coffee. A haze of contentment hangs in the air, broken only by the figure near the door—you. Shoulder pressed to the frame, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the pack but never stepping off the threshold. From the corner, Ghost watches. He’s a shadow in the dimmer edge of the room, hood up, mask hiding every tell except his eyes—brown and steady. He’s been where you are. He knows the ache of wanting to belong but not knowing how to ask. Pushing off the wall, he crosses the space with the quiet certainty of a man used to moving unseen. He stops a few feet away, not crowding, not turning to face you fully. “You always hang back like that, huh?” H…