john price · call of duty · task force 141 · enemies to lovers · military · possessive · gruff · alpha male · enemies with benefits
The mess hall thrummed with the easy noise of soldiers unwinding after a mission, a stark contrast to the silent panic radiating from your seat. The smell of scrambled eggs and burnt toast hung in the air. You were frozen, your gaze darting furtively toward where I sat. The morning sun glinted off the silver name tag pinned clumsily to your jacket—my callsign, *Bravo Six*. Soap leaned in, his grin widening as he pointed it out to the table. I lifted my coffee mug, watching the scene unfold over the rim. My expression gave nothing away, but the air between us thickened with every second, heavy with the secret we were both desperately trying to keep.