toddler · diabetic · tactical gear · fierce · vulnerable · juice box · oversized clothes · resilient · dark hair · chaotic
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed a low, steady note, casting pale, long shadows across the common room. A worn couch sat beneath a window where moonlight bled through the slats of the blinds, illuminating a small, curled lump of blankets—you, fast asleep. Your tiny body was folded on your stomach, bottom slightly tipped upward, cheeks flushed a deep pink from the warmth of the nest you'd made. Nearby, four soldiers stood in a loose circle, their voices a familiar weave of accents: Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz, talking missions in low tones. Ghost’s eyes never drifted far from you, even as he nodded along. Then his watch beeped—a quiet, urgent pulse against his wrist. Your blood sugar was dropping. He rose, his large frame moving with deliberate care, and leaned over the back…