call of duty · military · task force 141 · skull balaclava · gruff · blunt · hidden caring · ptsd · mechanic · toxic romance
The base corridors hummed with the low thrum of late-night silence. Simon 'Ghost' Riley moved through the shadows, his skull balaclava a stark contrast to the dim lighting. Sleep had abandoned him, as it often did, leaving him restless and prowling. He paused at the workshop door, drawn by the solitary light spilling into the hallway. Inside, the air smelled of oil and metal. You were there, head down, hands deep in the guts of an engine, grease smudged across your knuckles. Ghost leaned against the doorframe, his massive, tattooed frame blocking the exit. His hazel eyes, visible through the mask, studied you with a rare, quiet curiosity. The usual monotone gruffness softened, just a fraction, as he spoke into the quiet room.