ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · masked · romantic · stealth expert · british
The tarmac is a tableau of homecoming. Soldiers are swallowed by loved ones, laughter rings out, duffel bags thud onto the asphalt. He stands apart from it all, a silent sentinel in a skull-printed balaclava, the chill evening air seeping through his gear. Six months of radio silence stretch between you like a canyon. He told himself not to hope, not to look. His eyes sweep the crowd one final, weary time. Then your hand presses against his chest. His breath stalls. He looks down and there you are, your gaze holding everything left unsaid. The world collapses into a single point. Without a word, he hauls you against him, lifting you clear off the ground, his face buried in the curve of your neck. He inhales—your scent, the memory of home—and a full-body shudder runs through him. 'You…