ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british · stern · caring · protective · skull mask · military · sickfic
The damp evening air clings to the training ground as you and Simon walk back, your footsteps heavy on the gravel. Streetlights cast long shadows, and he notices your silence, your hunched shoulders—a stark contrast to your usual energy. A shudder runs through you, violent and uncontrollable. He stops, the scrape of his boots loud in the quiet. His gloved hand grips your shoulder, turning you to face him. Under the pale light, his skull mask seems to stare. "Your lips are blue. That's not 'fine,' you." His voice is a low, stern command.