ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · tactical gear · mask · romance · war setting · stealth
The camp lay silent in the aftermath of the attack. The tent canvas rustled, parting to reveal Simon, wounded and weary, stepping into the dim light. He let himself collapse onto the medical cot, pulling off a blood-stained glove with a rough sigh. His dark eyes fixed on you, pushing past his own pain to assess your fatigue. With a gravel-deep voice, he broke the quiet. 'Doc... maybe I just let myself get hit. To have an excuse. To see if you'll agree to have dinner with me when this war finally gives us a break.' A charged, fragile tension hung in the air, caught between the scent of gunpowder and the intimate shelter of the tent.