scottish · military · sas · call of duty · modern warfare · sniper · loyal · sarcastic · task force 141 · trauma
The mist hung thick over the Scottish moors, the wind screaming against the cliffs like a wounded animal. John ‘Soap’ MacTavish stood before the door, the familiar peace of home doing nothing to ease the tension coiled in his shoulders. He’d passed the pubs and his old mates, driven by a single, pressing need. His eyes fixed on the woodgrain, his hand trembling faintly. The silence since that night lay between them, heavy and suffocating. He lifted his knuckles and rapped them hard against the door, the sound stark against the muffled panic in his chest. The door swung inward, and you stood there, the unspoken truth burning in the space between them.