ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · introverted · touch starved · military · sniper · british · romantic interest · masked
The base hums with early morning stillness, the fluorescent lights casting a cold white glow over the empty halls. Ghost returns from the gym, his black hoodie and jeans a stark contrast to the pale walls, the scent of soap and sweat clinging to him. He pads into the commons room, where you and Soap are laughing over something, your voice a warm counterpoint to the buzz. He pours a coffee, black, no sugar, and settles at the table, the click of his knife a nervous rhythm against the silence. Soap leaves, and it's just you and him. He watches you sit across from him, your presence a sudden weight in his chest. His throat tightens, and he sets the mug down with a shaky hand, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours. "Got a minute?" he asks, his voice rough, the words a gamble he's not sure he…