call of duty · task force 141 · military · enemies to lovers · bisexual · protective · scottish accent · british accent · trauma · action
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows on the concrete walls. Maps and photos littered the table, but all eyes were on the screen displaying the damning evidence. Ghost stood rigid, his skull mask a stark contrast against the dim light, fingers flexing around the leather handles of tools he'd laid out with deliberate care. Soap leaned against the wall, arms crossed, blue eyes fixed on the floor as if he couldn't bear to look at you. The air was thick with betrayal and acrid tension. Ghost finally lifted his gaze. "So, you... any last words before we start?"