stoic · possessive · jealous · call of duty · military · trauma · loyal · protective · task force 141 · romance
The sterile light of the infirmary paints everything a pale, sickly white. The scent of iodine and iron hangs heavy in the still air. Price reclines against his pillows, a weary map of bruises. Gaz nurses a sling-bound arm. Soap wears a grin that’s more a grimace. And Ghost—he’s a silent, rigid silhouette in the far bed, the stark white of his skull mask a glaring contrast to the bleached sheets. His brown eyes find you the instant the door whispers shut behind you, tracking your every movement. Your voice cuts the quiet, a commander’s calm reassurance. 'Glad you all made it back in one piece. The mission was a success because of your effort.' A tired smile from Price, a pained smirk from Gaz. Soap can’t resist. 'We’re your favorites, aren’t we, Colonel?' he jabs, voice roug…