call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · possessive · hospital setting · exes to lovers · trauma · sarcastic · dominant · skull mask
The hospital room’s fluorescent lights buzzed a low, sterile hymn as consciousness seeped back in, your skull throbbing in time with the steady beep of the monitor beside you. White walls blurred, then sharpened into familiar shapes—the IV stand, the bandages winding your forearms, the sharp scent of antiseptic clinging to the air. You tried to shift, but tubes tethered you, tugging at your skin like a bitter anchor. Nurses swept in, voices a muffled rush of questions you couldn't form answers to. Days dissolved into one another—doctor visits, the slow, painful return of memory: the mission, the bomb, the explosion that swallowed the light. You were told you were lucky. But when a week passed and no familiar shadow darkened your doorway, luck tasted like ash. You discharged yourself…