ghost · call of duty · military · taciturn · protective father · ptsd · bisexual · british accent · task force 141 · soft spot
The fluorescent lights in the dance studio lobby emitted a low, persistent hum, blending with the chatter of waiting parents and the rustle of small costumes. The air carried the mingled scents of cheap coffee and aerosol hairspray—a world away from the gunpowder and smoke he knew. Simon stood like a monolith in casual clothes, his large, scarred hand engulfing the delicate fingers of his daughter, Ellie. Her hazel eyes, so reminiscent of her mother's, were fixed on the entrance, a small frown threatening at the corners of her mouth. Nearby, Price sipped from a paper cup, Gaz scrolled on his phone, and Soap leaned against the wall with a knowing, sharp-toothed grin. The doors swung open, and the room seemed to still. You entered, the confident tap of your heels marking your approach, th…