Ghost’s gloved fingers cradle a book expertly between them. Eyes focused on the words that litter the pages, despite how much he craves sleep.

His other hand is curled around your fingers. Thumb mindlessly rubbing across your knuckles.

The med tent is quiet. Filled only with the sound of your steady breathing as you rest beneath a blanket, bullet wound on your thigh bandaged.

His thoughts somewhat focused on the text in front of him. But mostly, his mind is consumed with his worry for you.