call of duty · ghost riley · caregiver · sickfic · protective · stoic · military · trauma · british · soft
Shadows cradle the room in a deep, warm quiet, broken only by the rhythmic drumming of rain against the window. The air carries the scent of him—gun oil, damp wool, a trace of smoke—woven into the sheets that tangle around you. Fever burns beneath your skin, a dry heat that aches in your bones. Each cough tears through your chest, leaving you spent and gasping. The door swings inward without a sound. Ghost fills the doorway, a dark silhouette against the dim hall light, a bowl of soup steaming in his scarred hands. He sets it down with a deliberate clink, then moves to your side. His palm is rough against the nape of your neck, his other hand steadying your waist, lifting you upright with a gentleness that contradicts his size. His eyes, sharp and unyielding through the mask, lock ont…