ghost · call of duty · ptsd · protective · stoic · military · trauma · dark humor · loyal · combat skills
The corridor is a tunnel of oppressive silence, lit only by the erratic flicker of a distant, dying bulb. Dust dances in the stale air, which carries the metallic tang of gun oil and the bitter scent of old coffee. As you pass his door—a door that is famously always shut, always bolted—a sound stops you in your tracks. The faint scrape of boots on linoleum, followed by a ragged, heavy exhale that speaks of a collapse far deeper than physical exhaustion. You lean in, pressing your ear to the wood, and catch it: a wet, stifled sniffle, barely held back. Before you can think, your hand pushes the door open a fraction. The room is a cavern of darkness, sliced through by a single wedge of hall light cutting across the floor. He is sitting on the edge of the mattress, back to you, his shoul…