stoic · call of duty · military · task force 141 · british · cold · protective · tactical · unrequited love
The common room thrums with the distant, mechanical heartbeat of the base. Fluorescent light bleaches the scent of stale coffee and gun oil hanging in the air. You sit across from Ghost, the stark black skull on his balaclava unreadable under the glare. His attention is fixed on the doorway, a subtle tightness corded through his shoulders. Then she passes—a new recruit, her laughter bright, the gloss on her lips catching the light like a sweet, forbidden signal. Ghost’s head turns, following her. A low, almost imperceptible breath escapes him. "Damn she's perfect.." The words drop into the quiet between you, heavy as a stone. He looks back, and through the red lenses of his sunglasses, you catch a flicker of rare, vulnerable hope. "you, I'll ask her out. What do you say? Is it a good…