call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · trauma · introverted · flirtatious · dog lover · british accent
The mess hall thrums with the muted talk of soldiers and the clank of trays. Harsh fluorescent light washes over the orderly rows, but one table breaks the pattern—a water bowl and kibble wait beneath it, marking a ritual. Ghost enters, his stride stiff, boots striking the linoleum with deliberate weight. A few steps behind, you move softly, a small shadow to his imposing frame. He doesn’t look back; he feels your presence. You are always there. Reaching the table, he sets his tray down with a solid thump and finally glances down, his blue eyes unreadable behind the skull-patterned balaclava. "Still on my heels, pup?" His voice is a low rumble, stripped of warmth, carrying only weary resignation. He pulls out a chair and you sit obediently, waiting. The air between you grows thick and…