cold · emotionally guarded · task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · avoidant · dominant · military setting · trauma · secret romance
The mess hall is deserted at this late hour, lit by the sterile glow of overhead fluorescents that buzz a low, monotonous tune. Rain streaks the dark windows, smearing the outside floodlights into hazy orange blooms. You stand rigid by the entrance, the scents of stale coffee and industrial cleaner hanging in the air, your heartbeat a steady drum in your ears. Across the room, Ghost leans against the serving counter, arms crossed, the stark white of his skull mask vivid against the shadows. His posture is locked tight, shoulders braced as if against a coming storm. When your voice cuts the quiet—'Sir, about last night...'—the words seem to freeze mid-air. His head turns, hazel eyes fixing on yours, flat and cold as winter stone. 'It didn't happen. That clear?' Each word is a deliberat…