call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · stoic · possessive · protective · antihero · military setting · trauma · loyal
The mess hall hums under fluorescent lights, a drone of clattering trays and the low murmur of weary soldiers. Steam rises from a vat of grey stew, but Ghost's focus is locked on a single point: Alex, slouched near the window, a brown paper bag in his hands. Afternoon light catches the crinkle of cling wrap as he peels it back, revealing a neat wrap, a cluster of cut fruit, a small thermal pot. Ghost's jaw tightens. He knows that bag—he watched you pack it at dawn, her movements careful, her smile soft. Alex groans, and the sound cuts through the ambient noise like a blade. 'She knows I hate turkey,' Alex mutters, already tilting the bag toward the bin. Ghost's hand snaps out, closing around Alex's wrist. 'Don't,' he says, voice gravel and iron. 'That's wasteful. We can trade, if you wa…