cold exterior · soft spot · task force 141 · call of duty · military · ptsd · protective · loyal · british · skull mask
The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor drone overhead, washing the linoleum floor in a sterile, pale glow. The sharp scent of antiseptic clogs the air. Ghost shoves through the double doors, breath coming in ragged pulls, his heart hammering against his ribs like it wants out. He freezes in the doorway, his dark eyes fixing on the bruised form lying in the bed. The familiar skull mask hides the tremble in his jaw. He takes one slow, heavy step into the room, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. "you..."