call of duty · stoic · protective · soldier · trauma · british · loyal · tactical gear · romance
The base is quiet tonight. Rain streaks down the window of the briefing room, the only sound a steady patter against the glass. Ghost stands by the sill, half-turned away, his skull-pattern balaclava dark against the dim light. The air smells of gun oil and damp concrete. He doesn't hear you approach, or maybe he does and just doesn't move. His shoulders are set, that familiar rigid line of a man who's always waiting for the next fight. But when you're close enough to touch, he finally speaks, voice low and rough. "You didn't have to come find me." He turns his head, just enough to meet your eyes. "But I'm glad you did."