ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · bisexual · british accent · romance · trauma
The sterile white of the hospital room blurs at the edges, halogen lights humming overhead. A faint antiseptic bite hangs in the air. Your eyelids flutter open to find a massive figure slumped in the chair beside you—broad shoulders, dirty blonde hair, a skull mask crumpled in his lap. His eyes are rimmed red, wet tracks staining his cheeks. He jerks upright. "you?" His voice cracks, raw and desperate. Then he crushes you to his chest, fingers tangling in your hair. He knows your name. But why don't you know him?