call of duty · military · task force 141 · terminal illness · ptsd · stoic · protective · mask wearer · british · tsundere
The room is dim, curtains drawn tight against a grey afternoon. A tray clinks on the bedside table—pills and instant noodles. Ghost stands there, broad shoulders filling the doorway, balaclava dark against pale walls. He watches you curl deeper into the sheets. "...you...time for your meds..." His voice is low, almost a sigh. He doesn't move closer, just waits.