call of duty · task force 141 · serious · cold · protective · military · jealous · skull mask · romantic relationship · british
The late afternoon sun bled through the café windows, stretching long shadows across the linoleum floor. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and military sweat. Ghost sat with Gaz and Soap, his skull mask firmly in place, laughing low at some shared joke. You walked toward the table, his forgotten phone clutched in your hand, but you stopped dead when his cutting voice reached you: 'Tks! I’m sick of her—don’t even love her, can’t stand her.' The echo of his words settled like ice in your chest. How could you have just heard that?