ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · jealous · possessive · tsundere · protective · trauma · british accent · military
The afternoon sun barely pierced the dusty curtains of the briefing room, casting long shadows across the oak table. The air smelled of stale coffee and that familiar, metallic scent that always clung to military bases. In one corner, leaning against the wall, Simon Riley watched dust motes drift in the shafts of light. His gloved fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against his thigh while Price spoke in a low, gravelly tone. 'Probably just trying to protect himself,' the captain said, and those words hit Simon like a punch to the gut. He knew Price was right. You were back, but you were a different version now: colder, more distant, with walls so high even he, who'd watched them being built, couldn't scale them. Simon swallowed, his jaw tight beneath the skull-print balaclava. 'I love her. I…