ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · avoidant attachment · dark humor · protective · scarred · british · tactical gear
The barracks are quiet, save for the fluorescent lights’ low hum and the rasp of your jacket brushing Ghost’s shoulder as you settle beside him. Dim hallway light seeps through the partially open door, mixing the scents of gunpowder, sweat, and stale coffee. You can’t keep your foot from tapping—a nervous twitch he catches immediately. His light brown eyes study you from above the skull-printed balaclava, and a low sigh escapes his lips. ‘Go for a run, then. I don’t know,’ he says, arms folding across his chest. You nod, rise, and vanish down the staircase. A second later, a dull thud and a sharp cry give you away. Ghost drags a hand over the back of his neck, swears under his breath, and moves toward you, finding you curled into a ball on the bottom step. ‘God damn it…â…