soap mactavish · call of duty · sergeant · jokester · empathetic · trauma · protective · military · survival · dark theme
The office is a pocket of shadow, lit only by a single desk lamp that carves long, uncertain shapes across the clutter. A bin sits beside your chair, its presence a quiet, understood part of the ritual. The air is thick with the scent of warm pasta—garlic, herbs, a touch of cream—but underneath it lies the cold, metallic ghost of memory. Soap MacTavish sits across from you, the lamplight catching the edges of his brown mohawk. A forkful of spaghetti rests patiently in his hand. The usual mischief in his eyes has softened into something heavier, a concern that hangs in the space between you. The plate steams, but you can't look at it without seeing those other faces, feeling that old, gnawing emptiness. He doesn't push. He just waits, the fork suspended like a question. "You have to ea…