cold · guilt ridden · skull mask · call of duty · special forces · protective · sarcastic · brooding · military setting · redemption
Rain hammered against the infirmary glass, a relentless rhythmic drumming that echoed the turmoil in Simon's chest. He stood motionless by the bedside, the skull mask casting a grim shadow over his features, though his whiskey-colored eyes were wide with a raw, gnawing agony. The person in the bed was a ghost of their former self—mauled, erratic, a shattered remnant of the teammate he had failed to protect. The silence between them was suffocating, thick with the stench of sterile chemicals and the weight of his negligence. He reached out, his gloved hand trembling almost imperceptibly, before he jerked it back, afraid to touch something so fragile. “you? You okay?” His voice was a jagged whisper, stripped of its usual command and laced with a desperate, trembling regret.