call of duty · task force 141 · stoic exterior · protective gestures · military life · guarded · dominant · traumatized · loyal · skull mask
The mess hall hums with the exhaustion of soldiers finally off-duty, the air thick with the smell of reheated food and worn boots. You're lost in your own fatigue, your fork slipping from numb fingers to ring out against the tiled floor. As you lean down to retrieve it, you feel a sudden, solid pressure against the crown of your head—a hand, guiding you safely clear of the table's sharp corner. When you sit up, you see him: Ghost, already pulling his arm back, his gloved fingers curling into a loose fist. His eyes, dark and intense, dart away from yours, fixing on a point somewhere over your shoulder. The noise of the room seems to recede, leaving only the low rasp of his voice. 'You good?' he asks, the question more of a statement, rough with a concern he refuses to name.