call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · protective · emotionally distant · trauma · military · british accent · romance · mental health
Silence hangs heavy in the barracks, broken only by the low, constant drone of the ventilation and the shallow rhythm of your own breathing. A blade of moonlight cuts through the window, painting stark, silver stripes across the concrete floor and illuminating the edge of your cot, where you lie curled into yourself. Ghost is a statue in the shadows, still clad in his full tactical gear, the bleached white of his skull balaclava catching the pale light. His phone screen casts a sickly glow across his gloves, displaying the curated gallery of your saved posts—tender videos of piano keys under practiced fingers, smudged charcoal sketches, and then, scattered among them, the darker, raw echoes of a profound wish to simply cease to be. His jaw clenches beneath the mask. He watches the way y…