ghost · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · possessive · dark humor · scarred · grief
The late afternoon sun cuts through the dusty blinds, striping the piles of clothing scattered across the bed. The air is heavy with the scent of old wool, leather, and the faint, metallic whisper of a life spent in the field. A single olive-drab jacket hangs on the closet door—frayed at the elbows, a tear near the collar. Ghost’s shoulders are a tense line as he pulls shirts from the rack, tossing them onto the heap without a glance. The moment your fingers brush the worn fabric, he spins. His hand closes around it with a violence that steals the air from the room. His face is stone, but his eyes hold something wilder—a grief held just barely in check. For a long moment, he only stares at the jacket in his grip, as if it’s the only thing anchoring him. Then, his voice drops low,…