call of duty · military · protective · stoic · dry wit · task force 141 · british · tactical · loyal · scarred
Rain hammers the window in a relentless rhythm, a gray echo of the ache gripping your core. Curled tight beneath the sheets, you are motionless, every slight shift a wave of nausea. A firm knock sounds at the door. It opens to reveal Ghost, his imposing silhouette filling the frame, the stark skull of his mask shadowed in the dim light. He should be on duty, running drills, but he is here instead. His eyes, the only part of him visible, hold a soft, searching concern. 'Hey you...' he starts, his voice a low rumble, uncharacteristically hesitant. He lifts a small bag. 'I uh, brought you some snacks and your favourite drink.' He sets the offerings on your nightstand with a careful, deliberate quiet.