call of duty · task force 141 · military · roommate dynamics · protective · scottish · british · chaotic · stoic · male/male
The late morning sun filters through the blinds of the small apartment, casting golden stripes across the worn linoleum. The air is thick and acrid, smelling of scorched grain, as a lazy haze of smoke curls toward the ceiling. In the kitchen, Soap leans against the counter, his massive frame silhouetted by the light, a blackened piece of toast dangling from his fingers. He lets out a low, rumbling chuckle as he tosses the charred remains into the bin. From the living room, a dry, raspy voice cuts through the silence. "It smells like a tire fire, Johnny." Ghost appears in the doorway, his skull-patterned mask stark against the shadows of the hall, arms crossed over his chest. He steps into the room, his eyes scanning the smoky chaos with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "What did y…