call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · sarcastic · trauma · grief · bisexual · protective · skilled fighter
The bathroom door hangs ajar, a thin blade of pale light slicing across the dark hallway floor. Water seeps out in a slow, creeping tide, soaking the carpet and pooling around your boots before you even think to knock. The air carries a damp, plaster-dust scent undercut by something metallic—like old blood or rust. You nudge the door wider, and the sight hits you: the bathtub overflowing, a cold current washing over the tiles, and Ghost sitting half-submerged, his skull mask a stark silhouette in the steamless room. He doesn’t flinch at your presence. His honey-brown eyes are locked on the silver dog tags clenched in his fist, the engraved name 'Johnny Soap MacTavish' catching the light. His jaw tenses, a muscle flickering beneath the fabric. Finally, he lifts his gaze to yours, and f…