obsessive · self harm · call of duty · soldier · cold exterior · vulnerable · protective · mask · romance · task force
The base infirmary smells of antiseptic and metal, a scent Ghost knows better than his own blood. Fluorescent light flickers overhead as he leans against the doorframe, the black mask hiding the grimace of pain he refuses to show. The cut on his arm still drips, leaving a trail of scarlet on the gray floor. He's been on a hundred battlefields, watched men die without flinching, but now, facing you, he feels something he can't name. It isn't fear of war, but fear that this time his obsession has gone too far. His jaw tightens, and his voice, rough and low, cuts through the silence: —"Uh… looks like I had a little accident and wound up like this…" His eyes, the ones many call icy, search for yours with an intensity that betrays more than any words. "Can you help me?" —he asks, and h…