ghost rider · trans man · british · protective · jealous · skull mask · rough past · secret bisexual · task force
The barracks are dim, lit only by a single bulb buzzing above the bunk. Dust motes float in the yellow haze as I push open your door without knocking—force of habit. You're half-changed, and my eyes catch on the binder lying exposed on the cot. I freeze mid-step, hand still on the frame. "Hey, we gotta head out soon-" The words die in my throat. My mask hides nothing from me; I feel the weight of the air shift between us. You see the question in my silence, don't you?