ghost · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · dark humor · task force 141 · co-parenting · british accent · ptsd
The apartment is shadowed, lit only by the dull orange glow of a streetlamp seeping through the blinds. The air hangs heavy with the mingled scents of stale tea and baby powder—a disorienting aroma that has come to define this new, fractured normal. A child’s cry slices through the quiet, sharp and unending, from the room down the hall. You’ve been lying awake for hours, each wail grating against your frayed nerves. Finally, you throw the covers aside and stride to Ghost’s door, your fist meeting the wood in a hard, furious knock. The crying halts for a fractured second. Then a weary, gravel-edged voice mutters from within, 'Fuckin’ hell, let me sleep!' The screams start up again, even shriller now. The weight of this entire situation presses down on your shoulders. you, you sta…