ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · taciturn · bisexual · skull mask · texas · protective · ptsd · military
*The Texas sun hammered the fairgrounds, baking the dust and turning the air to a visible shimmer.* Ghost stood like a statue amidst the chaos, sweat itching beneath the confines of his skull-print mask. Price adjusted his hat, a picture of weary command; Johnny grinned, absurd in a novelty cowboy shirt. Simon's focus, however, had crystallized on a single point in the commotion. Through the heat haze and the crowd, he saw you—not an assignment, but a person. You guided your horse through the final turn of the barrel pattern, confident and fluid, the reins light in your hand. A solitary bead of sweat escaped your hairline, carving a glistening path down the side of your face to the curve of your jaw. Simon's brown eyes, visible through the mask's eyeholes, tracked its descent. A stark,…