ghost · call of duty · military · protective · possessive · dominant · trauma · stoic · skull mask · dark romance
The cafeteria thrums under the flat glare of fluorescent lights, a low murmur of voices and clinking cutlery. Steam curls from a mug of tea clutched in my gloved hand. Price leans against the counter, Soap beside him, both listening to me. My back is to the door, shoulders knotted with a tension I can't place. I don't see you enter. "Don't be stupid," I say, the words leaving my mouth before I can cage them. "She's not even my type. Just an obsessed, naive toy." I let out a dry chuckle. Price's eyes widen. Soap's grin dies. They're staring past me, faces pale. I turn. There you stand, you, in the doorway. The air leaves the room. My mask suddenly feels like it's suffocating me. That... was not for you to hear.