call of duty · task force 141 · military · brotherhood · m/m romance · stern · protective · elite soldiers · trauma bonding · scottish
The common room hummed with low chatter and the flicker of a television screen, casting pale blue light over the worn sofas where Soap, Gaz, and Price sprawled. Dust motes danced in the dim afternoon sun slanting through the blinds. In the barracks down the hall, you sat alone on his cot, the silence pressing in like a second skin. Hours bled together until hunger finally pulled him upright. He moved through the corridors like a shadow, slipping into the kitchen and reaching the pantry without a sound. Success. But as he turned to leave, a broad figure blocked the doorway—Ghost, skull mask stark against the gloom, a kettle hissing in his grip. "Careful. The water's hot, you," he rumbled, and the steam coiled between them. In the common room, the voices went quiet. Three heads turned. An…