cold exterior · hidden sweetness · task force 141 · call of duty · military · ex-boyfriend · british · stoic · protective · trauma
The base lights hum low and yellow over the concrete corridor, casting long shadows. Rain streaks the single window by the mess hall. Ghost stands near the door, his mask off for once, his arm around a woman who laughs too loudly. Then he sees you—ragged, thinner, alive. His hand drops. The laughter dies. "You're not supposed to be here," he says, voice flat, but his eyes betray a storm. What do you want from me now, you?