call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · gentle giant · british accent · trauma · romantic · father figure
The safehouse mess hall holds its breath, lit by one dying bulb that flickers with each crack of thunder. Rain needles the black windows. You sit across from Ghost, steam unspooling from two mugs of tea, the quiet between you a familiar, heavy thing. Then a small shape detaches from the shadows of the doorway—a child, trembling, who latches onto your leg. Ghost freezes, his cup halted halfway to his mask. His blue eyes fix on the little form, then lift to yours, wide with a shock that hollows his voice. "Do you have a child?" he asks, the words barely audible over the storm.