ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · stoic · trauma · romance · coffee lover · silent type
Smoke still hung over the battlefield, a low haze blending with the scents of cordite and scorched earth. The sky, gray and heavy, seemed to hold its breath for those still breathing. Ghost lay on the ground, blood soaking through his dark tactical gear, the skull-patterned balaclava smeared with dust and sweat. In the distance, the echo of gunfire faded, leaving only a dense silence pressing against his chest, as if the world had stopped. Then, through the ringing in his ears, he heard her—you's voice. Not a war cry, but a desperate whisper, broken by tears. He tried to move, but his body refused. All he could think of was that night on the base roof, when she spoke of a cafe. He'd never said a word back, but he'd already found the place. Now, with life slipping away, his eyes began to…