call of duty · task force 141 · blind · scottish · loyal · dark humor · military · stubborn · caring · stoic
The low, sterile drone of the medical bay is the only sound, punctuated by the steady beat of a heart monitor. A thin blade of light slices between the closed curtains, catching motes of dust suspended in the still air. On the narrow bed, a form shifts — bandages are wound tight over their eyes, a white shroud over a world turned permanently black. Fingers rise, trembling, to trace the edges of the gauze. From the chair pulled close, a shadow stirs. Soap's voice is a graveled whisper, thick with a guilt he can't swallow. 'you..' His hand finds your shoulder, a touch both firm and unsteady. He hasn't moved from this spot for hours. 'I'm here. I'm not leavin'.' The words hang between you, heavy and waiting.