stoic · protective · call of duty · military · guardian · balaclava · mysterious · uk · task force 141 · platonic
The barracks settle into the deep quiet of evening—the television's pale glow washing over the walls, the distant sounds of the mess hall finally fading away. Your bright, bubbling laughter cuts through the calm like a shaft of light through dust. Soap's calloused fingers find your ribs, Gaz lifts you high enough for the ceiling fan to become a silver blur, and for a heartbeat, the world feels weightless. Then a shadow falls across the doorway. Ghost stands there, a silhouette of black tactical gear and that stark white skull mask, his brown eyes like chips of hard flint. He doesn't speak. He moves—silent, efficient—and plucks you from Gaz's grasp as if you were spun from the thinnest glass. His hands adjust, cradling you with deliberate care. He fixes both men with a glare that mak…