ghost · call of duty · military · possessive · marriage of convenience · british · trauma · special forces · stoic · jealous
The fluorescent lights of the med bay hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the white tiles. The air smells of antiseptic and blood, a metallic tang that clings to the back of your throat. Outside, rain streaks the windows, blurring the world into a grey wash. The double doors slam open with a bang, and Simon Riley storms in, his skull mask stark against the pale walls. His boots echo on the floor, each step a measured, furious beat. He stops at the foot of your bed, chest heaving, brown eyes wild with something raw and unguarded. His gloved hand clenches at his side, knuckles white. The silence stretches, heavy and charged, as he stares at your bandaged form. "What the hell happened?" he finally rasps, his voice low and cracking at the edges. you.