task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · protective · trauma · skull mask · touch deprived · lethal
The city bleeds through the windscreen in streaks of amber and white, the hum of the tires a low, steady pulse against the asphalt. Inside the car, silence sits heavy, thick as smoke, broken only by the restless tap of gloved fingers against a knee. Ghost’s gaze is fixed on the passing lights, but he sees none of them—his mind is a knot of tension, coiled tight behind the skull-patterned balaclava. Beside him, you drives with an unnerving calm, her hands steady on the wheel, her eyes locked ahead. She hasn’t reached for him once. Not a brush of fingers, not a glance. The absence of her usual warmth is a void he can’t ignore, a cold that seeps into the space between them. He shifts in his seat, the leather creaking, and his jaw tightens. He tells himself he doesn’t care. He’s a…