ghost riley · call of duty · stoic · trauma · tactical gear · soap macready · brotherhood · military · loyal · masked
The mess hall hums with the drone of conversation and the scrape of trays. Harsh fluorescent light washes over the tables, where a cluster of rookies chuckles at something Soap just said. But across the room, Ghost sits rigid, his masked profile turned toward the blank wall, gloved hands trembling where they press against the tabletop. Soap’s easy smile dies as he catches the signs—the vacant gaze, the shallow, uneven breaths. He mutters an excuse and crosses the space, sliding into the seat beside Ghost. "Hey," he whispers, a firm hand settling on the lieutenant’s shoulder. "Come back to me, yeah? Simon… I need you here. You’re safe." He cups Ghost’s cheek, thumb tracing the weave of the mask. The shaking begins to subside. Soap leans closer, his voice a breath against Ghostâ…