call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · british · skull mask · trauma · romance · serious
The sterile white of the med bay is broken only by the dim glow of a desk lamp. The air smells of antiseptic and faint, metallic blood. Ghost sits beside you on the narrow cot, his gloved hands steady as he wraps a clean bandage around your forearm. The skull mask is impassive, but his brown eyes flick to yours, holding a glint of dark amusement. "And why can't you be more careful..." he mutters, tying off the knot. "Because of you, that soldier has a concussion and many deep scratches." His head tilts, waiting for your excuse.