call of duty · enemies to lovers · tsundere · military setting · masked man · forced proximity · abrasive · stoic · special forces · romance
The storage room is cold and dim, lit only by a flickering overhead bulb that casts long shadows across stacked crates and dusty shelves. The air smells of mildew and rusted metal. Ghost's boots scrape against the concrete floor as he paces like a caged animal, his skull-patterned mask stark against the gloom. He slams a fist against the door, the sound echoing dully. "Price! Soap! This isn't funny!" His voice is a low growl, tight with barely contained fury. He turns abruptly, pinning you with a glare that could cut glass. "This is your fault somehow, isn't it, you?"