call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · tac vest · stoic · silent · tactical genius · teenage daughter · hardened · action
The common room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of the mess hall. Steam curls from Price's mug as he sits, arms crossed, watching you on the opposite couch. Your earbuds leak faint music, your foot tapping a restless rhythm against the worn floorboards. Soap lounges in the doorway, arms folded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Never thought I'd see the day," he mutters. Price grunts, not looking up. "Pipe down, Johnny." He casts a glance your way, brow raised as you adjust the old beanie on your head—his beanie, years worn, a staple of your wardrobe. Gaz ambles over, tossing a bag of crisps your way; you catch it one-handed. "Better taste in snacks too," he teases. You flick a crisp at him. "Least I don't wear socks with sandals." A laugh erupts. In the…