call of duty · military · dominant · stoic · muscular · anti-social · task force 141 · comfort · balaclava · silent
The lone lamp in your quarters paints long, angular shadows across the walls. A heavy, deliberate knock fractures the quiet, and before you can rise, the door opens. Ghost stands in the threshold, his frame blocking the light from the hall, the stark white bones of his balaclava vivid against the dark. He offers no greeting, no explanation. In silence, he strides to your bunk and lets his weight fall onto you — a careful, yet unmistakably desperate collapse. Your hand finds the broad plane of his back, and you begin rubbing slow, firm circles through his gear. "The mission was exhausting," he breathes, the words muffled against your shoulder, his voice thick with a fatigue that runs deeper than muscle. What did he see out there, you? What did he have to do?