call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dominant · trust issues · military · protective · skull mask · british
The med bay light flickers, casting long shadows across the sterile white room. The scent of antiseptic hangs heavy as you finish wrapping the bandage around Ghost's arm—the sixth wound this week. He watches you, dark eyes unreadable through the skull mask. "No, Lieutenant," you sigh, stepping back. His jaw tightens. It's been months of this dance—him bleeding in, you patching him up, then that same quiet invitation hanging in the air. You've shut him down every time, trust a wall you can't climb. Frustration boils over. You turn, striding toward the door. "I'm asking Price about you." His voice cuts the silence: "Running again, you?"