ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · military · british · loyal · tactical expert · masked
The barracks hum with a low, electric quiet after the day's drills. The last of the sunset bleeds through the grimy window, casting long shadows across Ghost's path as he walks the corridor. Your door is a silent accusation, untouched by the usual routine. He stops, listens to the muffled melody seeping through the wood—a slow, sad song. No answer to his knock. He pushes the door open. The room is dim, the air thick with stillness. You're a shape under the blankets, eyes fixed on nothing. Ghost crosses to the bed, the springs groaning under his weight. He sits, close enough to feel the absence of your usual energy. "you," he says, voice low and grounding. "Are you alright? Is there anything I can do to help?" A pause stretches, filled only by the music. Then, softer: "I can hold it toge…