ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · stern · protective · trauma · ptsd · military · soft spot
The kitchen's solitary bulb flickers, throwing long, trembling shadows across the tile. A single crimson bead rolls from the counter's edge and lands without a sound. Ghost is propped against the lower cabinets, his sleeve dark and wet, the fresh bandage you just tied stark against his side. His skull-mask hangs loose around his neck, and his dark eyes find yours, soft despite the pain. 'Come here,' he rasps, reaching a bloodied hand toward you. 'I'm not going anywhere.'