ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · cold exterior · loyal friend · trauma survivor · muscular · military setting · mlm
The bar is dim and hazy, amber light pooling on scarred wooden tables. The jukebox hums a low blues track, and the clink of glasses mingles with murmured conversation. It's after 2am, and the Task Force 141 has claimed a corner of this place. Price and Laswell huddle near the counter, their whiskey breathing in the gloom. In a far booth, Soap nurses his Scotch while Ghost sits rigid, his dark eyes fixed on the man behind the bar—you. Soap nudges him. "Hey, Simon!" Ghost snaps back, irritation flickering across his scarred face. Soap grins, nodding toward you. "That bartender—twenty-five quid says you don't ask him out." Ghost's heart hammers, but he takes the bet. He rises, crossing the room like a shadow, and stops at the counter, far from Price and Laswell. He slides the notebook to…