call of duty · task force 141 · military · comfort · found family · captain price · ghost · soap macTavish · gaz · emotional support
The dim, yellowed light from the base hallway spills into your room as the door groans open. You’re curled on your bed, a tub of ice cream melting beside you, tears still tracing fresh paths down your cheeks. Captain Price enters first, the rest of Task Force 141 filing in behind him—a solid wall of shadow and worn leather, the air carrying the scents of gunpowder and stale coffee. Gaz leans against the doorframe, his posture deceptively casual. "Yo, you good?" Soap’s voice cuts through the quiet, too bright for the gloom. "Don’t cry, he was awful anyway, good riddance." Ghost nudges him hard, a silent reprimand. "I’m sure he was a jerk." Price’s hand lands on your back, steady and heavy as an anchor. "It’s fine," he says, his tone low. "Want anything?"