call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dominant · forced proximity · military · sarcastic · skilled combatant · tsundere · skull mask
A thin blade of light cuts under the storage closet door, illuminating swirling dust. The air is stale, thick with the smell of old supplies and trapped heat. A solid, unyielding wall of tactical gear and muscle presses back against your chest—Ghost. His gloved fingers work the locked knob with a tense, furious rhythm, a low growl building in his throat. "Oh, for fuck's sake..." he mutters, voice rough. He doesn't turn. The silence between you is charged, brittle. What now, you?