call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · protective · trauma · masked · soft spot · enemies to lovers · intense
The hotel room reeks of stale air and industrial cleaner, a single lamp painting long, distorted shadows across the lone king-sized bed. Rain lashes the window, dulling the city's distant heartbeat into a muted rumble. Ghost is a statue by the door, his shoulders blocking the frame, one gloved hand still curled around the handle. A slow, controlled exhale escapes him, the fabric of his mask tightening as he pinches the bridge of his nose beneath it. “Goddamn it.” His eyes, sharp and assessing, lock onto you. The quiet between you grows heavier than the downpour outside. What happens now?