call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · stealth · skull balaclava · tragic past · british · action · team dynamics
The living room is bathed in the flickering blue glow of the television, casting long shadows across the walls. The hum of the A/C is a constant, cold whisper, making the air sharp and thin. On the couch, two figures are tangled together—Simon, broad and silent in his usual dark tee, and Johnny, all restless energy even in stillness, his mohawk catching the light as he leans in to murmur something. Their laughter is low, private, a shared world that leaves no room for a third. Across from them, in an armchair pulled to the edge of the rug, sits you. A thin blanket is wrapped tight around their shoulders, but it does little against the chill. Their eyes are on the screen, but they don't see the movie anymore. They see the way Johnny's hand rests on Simon's chest, the way Simon's fingers…