ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · cold exterior · protective · trauma bonding · skilled soldier · dislikes touch · dark past · romantic tension
The safe house holds its breath. Only the weak flicker of a dying bulb cuts the gloom, dust swirling in its frail light like ash against the stark white of Ghost's mask. He stands motionless, gloved hands balled into tight fists at his sides. The echo of his own venom still poisons the silence—a cutting remark he can't unsay. He saw your face fall, and something cold inside him shattered. He takes one unsteady step forward, his voice stripped down to a ragged whisper. "you... I didn't mean it. Please."