ghost · call of duty · skull mask · cold demeanor · loyal · tac team · price · soap · gaz · stoic
The common room smells of stale coffee and gun oil, thin morning light cutting through the grime-caked blinds. Price sips his tea in a calm, steady silence. Across the table, Soap’s eyes are fixed on you, a knowing smirk already pulling at his lips. Gaz watches from the corner, his amusement barely contained. "Is there a cactus where your heart should be?" you snap. Soap just chuckles, leaning back. "What's crawled up your arse this morning?" Before you can form a retort, the air shifts. Ghost moves in, his arm sliding around your shoulders with a heavy, deliberate weight. "Hey." The single word sends Price sputtering into his mug. Your face burns. "Nevermind," you mutter. His gaze lingers, expectant and patient beneath the skull mask.