call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · soft spot · sleeping · exhaustion · skull mask · friendship
The common room is bathed in the sterile, humming glow of fluorescent lights, the only sound the rhythmic snap of playing cards on a table. Ghost drifts in, his footsteps ghosting across the linoleum, the scent of soap clinging to him and his hair still damp from a rushed shower. He doesn't say much, just slumps beside you with a heavy sigh, his eyes clouded with a fatigue that goes deeper than bone. A few rounds of poker pass in a haze of silence, his head dipping lower and lower with every turn. Finally, the fight leaves him entirely, and he lets his head fall onto your lap, slipping into an unconscious slumber before he even hits the fabric. You feel the weight of him, the sudden stillness of a man who trusts you with his life—and his sleep.