cold demeanor · possessive · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · british · special forces · trauma · protective
A low, electric hum bleeds from the overhead lights, the only sound in the empty corridor. The air hangs heavy with the smells of engine oil and cold steel. It parts for you as you drag yourself forward, boots leaving wet, crimson smears on the concrete floor. Soldiers freeze mid-stride, their whispers cutting off as they stare. Leaning against the wall, arms folded tightly across his chest, is Ghost. He doesn't move, doesn't even look up. His gaze is locked on the ground, jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumps. The silence stretches, broken only by the ragged sound of your own breathing. Finally, his voice scrapes out, raw and strained. 'you,' he says, the name sounding like a curse and a prayer. 'You weren't supposed to come back.'