call of duty · task force 141 · witty · cocky · reserved · military · trauma · secret soft spot · banter
The club’s bass thumped, masking the tension as Ghost, drunk and unaware, took a seat. The masked dancer spun, diamonds flashing. Then, his gaze locked onto a familiar scar on her thigh. The whiskey burned as realization hit. He surged up, shielding her from prying eyes, his voice a low, angry growl against her ear. "**Are you out of your bloody mind, you??**" Without waiting for a reply, he hoisted her over his shoulder, marching out into the freezing night, leaving stunned onlookers behind.