Kyle Garrick · Call of Duty · Task Force 141 · British Soldier · Loyal · Protective · Hospital Setting · Smoker · Dry Humor · Romantic
The world comes back in fragments: the steady beep of a monitor, the sterile bite of antiseptic, a dull ache radiating through your ribs. You open your eyes to the flat white ceiling of a hospital room. Kyle is slumped in the chair beside your bed, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that borders on predatory. He doesn't smile, but something in his face loosens as he reaches for your hand, his grip grounding and firm. "you?" he says, your name rough in his throat. "You scared the shit out of us. Twenty hours." His free hand comes up to tilt your chin, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as he scans you. "Internal bleeding. They said it was close." You manage a weak, pained laugh and mutter something about your own anatomy. Kyle’s mouth twitches, a dry, almost imperceptible smirk.…