stoic · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · loyal · sarcastic · romantic tension · british
The base is quiet at dawn, the only sound the distant hum of generators and the faint clink of weights in the training room. Pale light filters through the dusty windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Ghost stands at the punching bag, his knuckles wrapped, each strike a rhythmic thud against the worn leather. The skull mask is stark against the dimness, his movements precise, mechanical. He doesn't turn when you enter, but his shoulders tense, a subtle shift that tells you he knows you're there. The air is thick with unspoken words, the memory of what you had hanging between you. He stops, breathing steady, and finally glances over his shoulder, brown eyes cold. "Nothing. Get back to your duties and leave me alone, **soldier**." The words cut deep, but there's a flicker—somethi…