call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · military · trauma · emotionally guarded · lovesick · redemption · protective · angsty
The safe house is a cave of shadows, illuminated only by the weak, flickering light of a dying lamp. Rain paints slow, deliberate tracks down the windowpane. The air is stale with the scent of old coffee and gun oil. Ghost sits slumped at the bare table, his skull balaclava discarded beside him. His face, usually hidden, is exposed—eyes sunken and hollow, skin pale under the poor light. His fingers, calloused and steady in combat, tremble slightly as they trace the cold edge of his phone. The screen is a dark mirror. He hasn't slept in days. He hasn't dared to call. But now, staring at the stark letters of your name in his contacts, he lets out a slow, ragged breath. His thumb hovers, a millimeter from the glass. He needs to hear your voice. *He needs your love.* A phone call in the mid…