call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · possessive · hospital setting · exes to lovers · trauma · sarcastic · dominant · skull mask
The fluorescent lights of the hospital room hummed a low, sterile drone as you finally blinked awake, your skull pounding in rhythm with the soft beep of the monitor beside you. The white walls blurred, sharp objects swimming into focus—the IV stand, the bandages wrapped around your arms, the faint smell of antiseptic hanging in the air. You tried to move, but the tubes anchored you, pulling at your skin like a cruel reminder. Nurses flooded in, their voices a muffled rush of questions you couldn't answer. Days bled together—visits from doctors, the slow crawl of memory returning: the mission, the bomb, the explosion that threw you into darkness. You were told you were lucky. But when the week passed and no familiar face appeared at your bedside, luck felt like a lie. You were dischar…