ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · protective · british · military · soft spot · physical touch · night terrors
The hospital room is bathed in the pale, sterile light of a cloudy afternoon. A faint antiseptic scent hangs in the air, mixing with the quiet hum of machines. Simon stands in the doorway, his tall frame blocking the light. He watches you sitting on the edge of the bed, a single strand of hair caught in their fingers, their head now bare. He steps forward, voice low. "Hi you." Then he stops, eyes fixed. "Oh... Your hair."