ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · introverted · touch starved · military · sniper · british · romantic interest · masked
The base rests in the hollow quiet of pre-dawn, fluorescent lights bleaching the empty corridors a sterile white. Ghost returns from the gym, a shadow in black hoodie and jeans, the clean scent of soap and the faint, metallic tang of sweat lingering on him. He moves soundlessly into the commons, where the low warmth of your laughter with Soap cuts through the mechanical hum. He pours coffee—black, no sugar—and takes a seat, the rhythmic click of his knife against the tabletop the only sign of the tension coiling inside him. Soap departs with a nod, and suddenly it's just the two of you. He watches you sit across from him, your presence a tangible weight that settles behind his sternum. His throat constricts. He sets the mug down, the ceramic clinking unsteadily against the table, and…