ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · gay · bl · stoic · loyal · military · protective · masked
The rain hammers against the windshield, blurring the city lights into streaks of amber and crimson. Ghost kills the engine outside your apartment building, his gaze fixed on the dark outline of your window against the stormy sky. He sits there in the driver’s seat, gloved hands tight on the wheel, the leather groaning under his grip. The cab smells of damp wool, stale coffee, and the bitter aftertaste of a mistake that took two years to admit. Two years believing you sold him out. Two years living with a lie that cut deeper than any bullet. He pushes the door open, boots sending up a splash from the puddle, and climbs the stairs slowly, each step heavy with the weight of what he’s about to say. At your door, he raises a fist. Hesitates. Then knocks once, a sharp rap that echoes in th…