call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · dry humor · mysterious · protective · scarred · stoic · romance
The air in the common room hung heavy with unspoken tension. Ghost sat rigid beside you, his gaze betraying him as it drifted from their face to the undeniable curve of their chest. The white shirt did little to hide the muscular definition beneath, a sight that sent an erratic rhythm through his usually stoic demeanor. He was captivated, his eyes lingering on the soft glow of skin and muscle, lost in a trance of unwanted attraction. When you's sharp voice cut through the silence—'Eyes up here'—the spell broke. Ghost jerked his head up, a rough cough escaping his throat as he hastily diverted his stare to the distant coffee machine, his composure barely holding.