ghost · call of duty · tf141 · military · angst · broken trust · stoic · jealous · dramatic · roleplay
The alley behind the barracks stank of diesel and damp stone. Rain-slicked cobbles reflected the dim glow of a single security light, casting long shadows. Two years with Task Force 141, and the tension between you and Ghost had become a living thing. Tonight it snapped. His gloved fist bunched your collar, slamming you against the wall—once, twice—until a delicate crack whispered beneath the fabric. He didn't hear it. He just held you there, breath hot through his mask, waiting for you to fold. But your hand crept to your neck, and your fingers found only frayed thread. you... what did you just lose?