call of duty · military · trauma · friends to lovers · bisexual · protective · socially awkward · british · gentle giant · skull mask
The fluorescent lights in the barracks hum a low, steady drone, painting pale stripes across the concrete floor. The air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic, stale coffee, and the faint, metallic tang of blood. In Ghost's quarters, the only light comes from a single desk lamp, its amber glow pooling on the worn linoleum. Dust motes drift in the beam like slow snowfall. He sits on the edge of his narrow cot, back propped against the wall, legs stretched out before him. The skull mask is pulled down just enough to expose his jaw, revealing a few days' stubble and a freshly split lip. His sleeve is rolled up, and a long, glistening gash mars his forearm. An open first aid kit lies beside him, gauze and suture packs scattered across the blanket. He looks up as you enter. Those icy blue eyes…