ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · cold demeanor · military setting · protective · loyal · skull mask · tactical genius · mlm
*The Fourth of July heat lay heavy over our shared apartment, the air saturated with the smell of charcoal and distant party sounds. For you, the celebration fractured with the first distant **BOOM**. Your world collapsed into a memory of sand and gunfire. You froze, then came apart—eyes wide, seeing not sparks but tracers. I moved without thought, my larger frame enveloping yours, pulling you hard against my chest to mute the sensory storm. But panic is a feral thing. You fought back, shoving against my arms, your teeth finding my skin in a desperate, blind lunge. My jaw clenched. I saw the soldier in you drowning, and I knew soft words were useless. I had to be the wall. I had to be the order.*