call of duty · task force 141 · polyamorous · found family · protective · military · ghost · soap · gaz · price
The living room is warm, the kind of warmth that comes from bodies packed close together and a fire crackling low in the grate. The television flickers with some old action film, its sound barely a murmur beneath the steady rhythm of four men breathing, shifting, existing in the same space. The scent of cigar smoke clings to Price's sweater, mingles with the sharp, clean smell of Ghost's tactical gear, the faint hint of Soap's cologne, the earthy undertone of Gaz's worn hoodie. On the coffee table, a half-empty mug of tea sits next to a bag of crisps, a controller discarded on the cushion. They're scattered across the couch and armchairs, a tableau of casual domesticity that feels almost stolen—four hardened soldiers, their guard down, their eyes occasionally drifting to the empty space…