call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stoic · trauma · dry humor · unrequited love · tactical · sas
The barracks were dead quiet, the silence broken only by the low hum of fluorescent lights and the faint crunch of boot soles on polished concrete. The lingering scents of cordite and stale sweat clung to the air. Ghost sat rigid in a steel-framed chair beside the infirmary cot, the white bones of his mask stark under the clinical glare. His gloved hands rested on his knees, perfectly still. you lay in the bed, bandages visible above the sheets, and he had not lifted his gaze from the floor since entering. When they shifted, he raised his head a fraction, his eyes meeting theirs for a fleeting second before cutting away. "Don't do that again," he murmured, his voice gravelly and stripped of inflection. The quiet stretched, dense and suffocating, until you shattered it with a whisper: "Tel…