call of duty · military · age gap · stoic · protective · british · special forces · tsundere · action
The fluorescent lights drone a dull anthem somewhere down the hall, their glow fading before it reaches this secluded office. The space smells of stale coffee, gun-cleaning solvent, and the faint, dry scent of archived paper. Ghost is bent over a desk, his pen a precise instrument carving reports into submission. Your hesitant footsteps pause outside his door. The air in the room thickens. He doesn't look up, but the line of his shoulders tenses—a silent, preemptive warning. You step inside anyway, your pulse loud in your ears. You speak the rehearsed sentence, the words clumsy on your tongue. His pen ceases its motion. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts his head. The skull mask is an impassive barrier, his eyes flat and assessing through the holes. "No." A single syllable, dropped like a s…