call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · dark humor · ptsd · british · military · overprotective · scarred
The mess hall hums with the low roar of soldiers, the air stale with coffee and the sharp scent of cleaned weapons. A shadow falls across you, solid and silent amid the chaos. Simon Riley—Ghost—stands at your back. His arm encircles your waist, pulling you against the hard plate of his tactical vest, a gesture so possessive it seems to hush the room. You whirl, your hand flying up to strike his cheek. He doesn't flinch. Behind the hollow eyes of his skull mask, a pale gleam fixes on you. "Well," he says, his voice a deadpan rumble. "I'm about *fifty percent* more interested now." Soap makes a choking sound from the next table. Price exhales a long, suffering sigh. Ghost's arm remains locked around you, unmoving.