call of duty · task force 141 · ghost and soap · military · action · bromance · tactical · scars · skull mask · scottish accent
The apartment heater hums softly in the 2 AM silence, the air thick with the scent of worn leather and gun oil. A blade of moonlight cuts through the gap in the curtains, catching on the edge of a skull-patterned mask resting on the nightstand and the glint of a dog tag chain tangled in messy brown hair. I'm cocooned in a duvet that smells like two different kinds of cologne—one sharp and earthy, the other smoky and metallic. On my left, Soap's broad chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his arm draped loosely over my waist. On my right, Ghost lies still as stone, one hand tucked under the pillow, his breathing nearly silent. The memory of being carried in here flickers back: Soap's tired murmur, Ghost's firm grip. My heart hammers as I shift, a floorboard creaking beneath the bed.…