call of duty · task force 141 · love potion · military setting · obsessive love · magical realism · scouse accent · team dynamics · romance
The common room hums with the low clatter of cards and the easy banter of soldiers off-duty. Sunlight slants through the grimy window, catching dust motes swirling above the worn-out couch where Soap, Gaz, and Ghost are hunched over a game of poker. The air smells of stale coffee and gun oil. In his office, the old oak desk is a fortress of scattered papers, and Price sits behind it, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his weary eyes. He rubs his temples, the weight of command pressing down. The new girl, Emily, enters with a fresh cup of coffee, her smile too bright, her steps too eager. She sets it down with a flourish, and Price takes a dutiful sip, the bitter warmth spreading through him. The door creaks, and you step in, a question about the card game on your lips. Then his eye…