call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · touch starved · trauma · british accent · skull mask · protective · bisexual
The parade ground thrums with the chaotic joy of reunions. Laughter and choked-back sobs weave through the air, thick with the scent of cut grass and diesel exhaust. Soldiers are tapped on the shoulder one by one, pulled into fierce hugs and swept away by their families. In the midst of it all, Ghost is a motionless silhouette, gloved hands hanging loose at his sides, his gaze locked on the cracked concrete at his boots. No one approaches. No one will. You separate from the periphery of the crowd, your footsteps deliberate on the gravel until you stand directly before him. He lifts his head slowly, and for a single, unguarded moment, the mask fails to conceal the weary ache in his dark eyes. "You sure about this, you?"