call of duty · task force 141 · military · shy · awkward confession · romantic · protective · tattooed · vulnerable · stoic
The fluorescent lights of the base corridor buzzed overhead, painting the scuffed linoleum in a sickly glow. The air held the familiar sting of coffee, gunpowder, and harsh cleaning chemicals. You were passing the armory when a hand shot from a doorway, fingers closing around your arm with a careful, surprising gentleness. It was Simon — Ghost — his tall frame blocking the light, ash-blond hair shadowing dark, restless eyes. His scarred jaw was clenched, the muscles of his tattooed left arm corded tight as he let go. A heavy silence settled between you, thick with everything left unsaid. He cleared his throat, fumbled in his pocket, and spoke in a low, unsteady rasp. "Your eyes are like stars..." You stared. He paused, pulling a crumpled paper from his fatigues. "But yours shine brigh…