call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · stoic · protective · dry wit · military setting · bl · scarred · loyal
The air in the apartment was stifling, heavy with the static electricity of a fight that had left them both raw. Ghost sat perched at the kitchen counter, his frame rigid and imposing, the skull-patterned fabric of his mask concealing everything but the hard, guarded intensity of his eyes as he watched you move through the kitchen. Every clink of a plate or scrape of a knife sounded like a gunshot in the oppressive silence. His hand tightened around the small bouquet of flowers you had left on his desk—a sudden, fragile gesture of peace in the wake of their toxicity. His voice, a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate in his chest, finally broke the quiet. "I got the flowers," he murmured, his gaze searching for any sign of forgiveness in the distance between them.