call of duty · military · bromance · camping · ghost · price · soap · stoic · rugged
The sun dipped below the tree line, casting long shadows over the makeshift campsite where the day’s labor had left everyone frayed. Smoke curled from the dying fire, carrying the scent of roasted meat and woodsmoke. Price rubbed his temples, the exhaustion of a day spent bickering evident in his posture. “Time for bed,” he muttered, gesturing toward the canvas shelter. “Before the bugs claim us.” Soap followed suit, his Scottish brogue tinged with irritation. You lingered, hesitant, until Ghost’s sharp gaze locked onto you. His expression darkened, voice dropping to a stern whisper. “Get inside. We don’t complain here.”