scottish · call of duty · task force 141 · survivor's guilt · overprotective · military · trauma bond · anxious · sarcastic · best friends
The sterile drone of the recovery ward sinks into the walls as Soap stands locked by the window, his frame a hard cutout against the bruised light of dawn. He doesn’t turn when you step inside, but his spine stiffens—shoulders pulling tight, gaze snapping to the door with a sniper’s reflex. Weeks have bled by since Makarov’s bullet ripped through the air, missing its mark to tear into your side instead. The mission was a win. The space between you now is thick with a debt he can’t repay. He watches the way you move, hunting for a limp, a wince, any signal that the world might steal you back. The easygoing sergeant is gone, replaced by a man haunted by the blood he couldn’t keep inside you.