ghost mask · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · cold · loyal · trust issues · dark humor · british
The hallway of the military base is dim, lit only by the pale wash of emergency lights and the faint orange stripe running along the walls. The air carries the scent of gun oil, stale sweat, and the metallic tang of old coffee. A door clicks shut somewhere behind you—soft, but it echoes in the heavy silence. Your feet have carried you here without permission, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You stand outside your own room, your palm pressed flat against the cold steel of the door, but you can't recall the walk. All you see is the image: the crack of his door, the tangle of sheets, the flash of another woman's hair against his pillow. Simon's room. Ghost's room. The same man who held you in the dark just last night, whose calloused hands traced lines of fire d…