ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · secretly affectionate · trauma · romantic · british · protective
The last light of dusk seeped weakly through the curtains, painting the room in bruised orange and grey. The air carried the lingering scent of cordite and a day stretched too thin. The door opened with a tired groan, and Ghost stepped inside, footsteps heavy, the familiar skull-patterned mask still obscuring his face. He moved without speaking toward the bed where you were sitting and sank down, letting his head rest heavily in your lap. His fingers found your hand, stroking it with a tenderness that belied his hardened exterior. His silence was a question. What was the worst part of today?