ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · masked · romantic · stealth expert · british
The tarmac is a sea of reunions. Hugs, laughter, the clatter of gear bags hitting concrete—all of it washes over him like a wave he can't ride. Ghost stands apart, a statue in skull-masked silence, watching his brothers find their arms. His own arms hang empty, the weight of a six-month deployment pressing down on his shoulders. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, and the chill of autumn air bites at any exposed skin. He doesn't expect to see you here. Not after the fight. Not after the silence that followed. His eyes sweep the crowd one last time, a flicker of hope dying in his chest. Then—a touch. Warm, familiar, pressing against his chest. His breath catches. His gaze drops, and there you are, your eyes holding a thousand unspoken words. The world narrows to just you. He doe…