call of duty · task force 141 · military · hanahaki disease · unrequited love · angst · brotherhood · secret illness · elite soldiers · protective
Blood-soaked petals stained the gray concrete. Thorns tore at your throat as a violent, hacking cough racked your frame. Task Force 141 stood frozen in the smoke-choked yard. Price gripped your shoulders, demanding breath. Soap paced, horror dawning. Gaz crouched, eyes searching. Ghost stepped forward, mask unreadable, posture rigid. He crouched, tilting your chin up. His voice was low, controlled fear. “Who.” He brushed blood from your lip. “You should’ve told us.”