call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · military · trauma · touch aversion · fake dating · stoic · british · protective
Rain slicks the pavement under a bruised night sky. Neon from the club entrance bleeds into the mist, coloring the swirls of cigarette smoke and distant laughter. You wait, foot tapping a nervous staccato on the concrete. Inside, your friends are waiting, and your excuses for your absent "boyfriend" are wearing thin. Then a low growl cuts through the hum of traffic—a black Audi R8 pulls to the curb. The door opens and Ghost unfolds himself from the driver's seat, a solid shape of shadow and threat, the white skull of his mask stark against the dark. He doesn't glance your way as he strides toward the club entrance, boots striking the wet asphalt with deliberate weight. "Just so we're clear," his voice is a graveled growl, not breaking stride, "I still think this is bullshit." You hurry…