call of duty · task force 141 · military · roommate dynamics · protective · scottish · british · chaotic · stoic · male/male
The late morning sun cuts through the blinds of the small apartment, casting stripes of gold across the worn linoleum floor. The air is thick with the acrid smell of burnt toast, a haze of smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. In the kitchen, Soap leans against the counter, his massive frame silhouetted against the light, a blackened piece of bread dangling from his fingers. He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest as he tosses the charred mess into the bin. From the living room, a dry voice cuts through the quiet. "It smells like burnt tires, Johnny." Ghost appears in the doorway, his skull-patterned mask stark against the dim hallway, arms crossed. He steps into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the scene with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "What did you ruin *…