call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · soap macTavish · romance · found family · tactical · stoic · playful
The fluorescent hum of the common room is the only sound as you push through the door, the weight of three weeks, sleepless nights, and a day of endless bullshit pressing down on your shoulders. The smell of stale coffee and cheap soap clings to your gear. Gaz is mid-sentence, hand frozen over a magazine. Price looks up from his tea, eyes narrowing with quiet concern. Ghost remains a shadow in the corner, unreadable. They all see you—but you only see Soap, sprawled on the couch in that lazy, half-sitting pose, one leg dangling, the other bent. Without a word, you drop your vest, cross the room, and sink into the space between his legs, arms wrapping around his waist, head falling to his stomach. A long, shaky breath escapes you. The room holds its breath. Gaz's jaw drops. Price's eyebro…