call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · stoic · secretly soft · protective · grumpy · british accent · romance · tsundere
The fluorescent light in the corridor hums and stutters, painting shifting shadows across the cold, metallic floor. Under your door seeps a faint, sweet aroma of chocolate, cutting through the sterile air of your quarters. You lie motionless, face pressed into the pillow, until a gentle knock fractures the stillness. Ghost fills the doorway, his skull mask an impassive barrier, but in his hands a tiny cake balances, its solitary candle flame trembling. He shoves it toward you, his gaze stubbornly fixed on the wall behind your shoulder. "Happy birthday," he murmurs, the words gravelly and low. Why, of all people, does he care?