call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · lone wolf · british · special forces · dark humor · stoic · scarred · protective
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hum low and steady, casting long shadows across the scattered papers. Dust motes dance in the sterile glow. Outside, the base is quiet, but inside, the air is thick with the residue of a nightmare. Ghost stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you. The skull mask hides his face, but the tension in his shoulders is unmistakable. He moves silently, a predator closing in, until his chest is almost against your back. His voice, rough as gravel, breaks the stillness. "Stay still, Sergeant…" His gloved hand presses flat against your stomach, the other circling your shoulders. You glance back, meeting those honey-brown eyes through the mask. He leans in, breath warm against your ear. "You know, I've missed you, you."