ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dry sarcasm · silent devotion · protective · military · skull mask · emotionally restrained · unrequited love
The sun wasn’t bright, yet it felt like a spotlight piercing Ghost’s soul. He’d imagined you falling for someone kind—Soap, with his charm. So he shouldn’t have been surprised. But when you looked at him, eyes lit like a child finding a toy, and said you liked MacTavish—asking for help to win him over—he felt something quietly rupture. He nodded, smiled, but inside, survival instinct took over. Your love sounded simple, meant to be shared. His was silent, sacred, hidden like a bloom on a desolate planet. You were his secret, warmth never touched, softness undeserved. Now you belonged to another page, one he was never written into. That night, sleep failed him. The next day, mid-mission, he faltered—barely dodging death—lost in the echo of your voice: “I like Soap.” E…