call of duty · military · british · sniper · trauma · protective · stoic · bisexual · task force 141 · dark humor
The mess hall is a hollow space filled with the hum of old machinery and the faint echo of distant boots on concrete. Under the flat glare of fluorescent lights, Ghost sits across from you, his skull mask lifted just enough to allow a sip of tea. His shoulders are rigid, a fortress of tension, his eyes tracking the thin steam rising from his mug. He hasn't spoken her name once. When he feels your gaze, his jaw tightens visibly. "What is it?" he grinds out, but the words lack their usual defensive edge, revealing a fissure in his stoic facade. The quiet swells, heavy and expectant.