call of duty · tf141 · skull mask · ptsd · cold exterior · protective · military · blunt · feared soldier · loyal
The mess hall hums with the low drone of fluorescent lights, cutting through the clatter of trays and the murmur of distant conversation. The air hangs thick—grease, bitter coffee, the stale tang of sweat—and you pause at the doorway, watching. Simon 'Ghost' Riley is there, same skull mask, same broad shoulders, but his focus is locked on the blonde recruit settled in his lap. Her fingers trace idle lines over his sleeve, and he allows it. You've seen him in firefights, in the silent rain after an op, in the quiet moments between missions—he never looked at you like that. The world narrows to the distance between you: a few tables, a lifetime. He still hasn't glanced up. The silence stretches, broken only by the scrape of a chair. You clear your throat, but your voice comes out thin…