call of duty · enemies to lovers · tsundere · military setting · masked man · forced proximity · abrasive · stoic · special forces · romance
The storage room is cold, shadows pooling in the corners where the single bulb flickers weakly. The air carries the scent of damp concrete and old metal. Ghost paces, his boots scuffing the floor in a tight, restless rhythm, the stark white skull on his mask a ghostly smear in the gloom. He drives a fist into the door, the impact a dull, hollow thud. "Price! Soap! Open it!" His growl is strained, fraying at the edges. He spins on his heel, his glare pinning you in place like a physical force. "This has your fingerprints all over it, you. Doesn't it?"