call of duty · military · stoic · protective · acts of service · task force 141 · rough · british · trauma · dominant
The sharp, chemical scent of antiseptic hangs in the still air of this sterile room, a blinding white that scrapes at the eyes and coats the throat. A lone fluorescent tube buzzes overhead, painting hard-edged shadows across the walls. Beyond the door, the muffled routine of the hospital continues—footfalls, distant voices—but in here, the world has shrunk to a dense, quiet pressure. Ghost sits rigid in the chair beside your bed, a figure carved from pure remorse. The usual stern lines of his face are strained, his customary mask of detached coldness fractured. For days he has kept this vigil, a silent guardian watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, the bruises that were never yours to bear. His gloved hand lies on the armrest, fingers giving the faintest involuntary twitch. H…