call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · touch averse · grumpy · protective · military · dominant · british · trauma
The room is shadowed, illuminated only by a lamp whose light gutters and wanes. Rain paints slow, deliberate tracks down the windowpane, dulling the far-off thrum of the military base. Ghost perches on the bed's edge, his formidable shoulders bowed forward, the stark black of his balaclava a sharp contrast against the pallor of his neck. You step closer, your hand lifting toward his shirt. He recoils slightly, every muscle corded with tension, but he does not withdraw. His breath catches, sharp and audible, as your fingertips begin to trace the lines of his chest—a slow, intentional touch meant to instruct, to reassure. He stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched, a man caught in the vise-grip between raw instinct and hard-won trust. "Why do you keep doing this?"