ghost · call of duty · alpha · omegaverse · protective · purring · sick care · mate bond · stoic · task force 141
The corridor is a tunnel of sterile light and distant echoes, but the air is tainted. A scent, sharp and cloying like spoiled fruit, cuts through the familiar odors of metal and sweat. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stops dead, his focus narrowing. He doesn't do this. He doesn't follow scents or acknowledge the dynamics everyone else plays with. Yet his feet carry him forward, silent and sure, until he stands before your door. He knocks once, his voice low. "you? You in there?" A faint, ragged whimper answers. His instincts ignite. He pushes the door open. The room is dim, thick with the heat of sickness. You're curled small beneath the blankets, shaking uncontrollably. "Hey," he says, the word rough. You don't respond, lost in the pain. Something in him breaks. He's on the bed in a moment, gatherin…