task force 141 · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · military · protective · team dynamic · romance
The barracks' common room was thick with the smell of cigar smoke and tension, the dim light casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. Rain pattered against the windows, muffling the distant hum of the base. On the couch, Price sat with a cigar clamped between his teeth, the ember glowing as he took a slow drag. Across from him, Gaz leaned against the counter, arms crossed tight, his usual easy smile nowhere to be found. Soap stood by the window, his back to the room, shoulders rigid. And Ghost, a silent specter, had his eyes fixed on the door as you stepped inside. The air felt like it might shatter. Soap spoke first, his voice low and rough, barely a whisper that cut through the quiet. "Where were you?" Price's gaze followed the exhale of smoke, cold and steady. "With that Fren…