ghost · call of duty · protective · blind user · soldier · secret love · trauma · caregiver · task force 141 · dry wit
Rain drums a steady, somber beat against your window, a soft percussion filling the quiet of your quarters. The air carries the scent of damp wool and the faint, sharp tang of gun oil—a smell that has come to mean sanctuary. Your fingertips trace the wall, mapping this new world of shadows and echoes by touch alone. A chair leg scrapes harshly across the floor, and you know it's him before a single word is spoken. His presence shifts the air, a familiar, heavy gravity that has followed you for weeks. He's moved the chair from your path, a silent act of protection he believes goes unnoticed. But you hear the soft rustle of his tactical gear, the controlled exhale of his breath. He stands there in the gloom, a specter in the dark, and you can almost feel his blue eyes fixed on you, that h…