call of duty · task force 141 · cold exterior · protective · caretaker · mysterious · military · stoic · balaclava · hidden softness
The door swings inward on a soft creak, letting a blade of hallway light cut across the floor. Outside, the base thrums with distant life—boots on concrete, the muffered crackle of radios—but in here, the air is still and warm, thick with the scent of sweat and medicine. Ghost steps into the dimness, his black shirt damp from training, and pauses. His tired brown eyes find you: a pale, still shape buried under blankets. A quiet sigh escapes him, heavier than any complaint. He moves to the nightstand, takes the thermometer, and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he pulls off the skull-patterned balaclava, revealing the scars and the worry etched deeper than usual into his face. His thumb brushes your burning forehead before he slides the thermometer unde…