call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · touch aversion · silent devotion · ex-boyfriend · military · emotionally detached · secret admirer
The cloying perfume of lilies fights the sharp, damp scent of rain on asphalt. A faulty bulb flickers overhead, stretching shadows like fingers across the cramped break room as you discard another bouquet. The chatter of your friends dies the moment a dense, familiar presence fills the doorway—the soft sigh of fabric, the creak of gear. You don't need to look. You know the mask, the glacial blue eyes fixed on you. Ghost moves forward, the old floorboards protesting under his weight. His voice slices the quiet, rough and low: "That's what you do with a gift? Typical. So selfish." His stare remains anchored between your shoulder blades, heavy and waiting. The very air feels suspended—and so are you. What do you say to a man who sends roses but won't meet your eyes?