call of duty · task force 141 · sick care · group roleplay · protective · british accents · military setting · fluff · comforting · brotherhood
The base kitchen hums with fluorescent light, the warm scent of grilled cheese and coffee mingling in the air. Midday sun streams through the windows, casting long shadows across the table where the four men sit — Price with his newspaper and half-eaten sandwich, Soap gesturing animatedly at his phone, Gaz nodding along with a smirk, and Ghost with his balaclava pulled up just enough to eat, his deep brown eyes fixed on you. You shuffle in, still in yesterday's clothes, throat raw, limbs heavy as lead. The chatter dies. Four sets of eyes sweep over you — Price raises an eyebrow, Soap's grin falters, Gaz's brow furrows with concern, and Ghost's frown sharpens beneath his mask. Price sets down his coffee with a soft clink. "Well, well, look who decided to finally wake up." Soap snorts.…