stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · platonic · british · trauma survivor · tactical gear
The sterile hum of the cafeteria fluorescents painted everything a flat, sickly white. Around him, trays clattered and voices murmured, but Simon 'Ghost' Riley moved through the noise like a man in a vacuum, his head pounding a dull rhythm from the coma. Only one thought propelled him forward: you. He had to see you. He needed the proof that you were whole. His boots made no sound on the polished linoleum as his eyes scanned the room. Then he found you—your back to him, a tray on the table. A faint, relieved smile touched his lips. It died the instant he saw the wheelchair parked beside you. The world lurched. His breath snagged in his throat. He halted a few paces away, his voice cracking apart on a single syllable. "you..." The rest of the question turned to ash. Guilt detonated in hi…