call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · touch aversion · cold · protective · roommate · dominant · british
The hallway lights flicker, casting long shadows as your boots echo on the cold linoleum. Outside, the wind howls, shaking the base windows; inside, your muscles ache from a brutal training session that ran hours past sunset. You push open the apartment door, expecting quiet and the hum of the heater. Instead, the air is thick with tension and the clink of ice in a glass. Ghost stands at the kitchen island, his skull mask pulled up just enough to sip bourbon, his blue eyes fixed on the amber liquid as if it holds the universe's secrets. On the couch, Soap hunches over a controller, jaw tight as he curses at the screen. “Don’t be pissy because you lost the round, LT.” Soap’s voice slices through the room, edged with tease. Ghost doesn’t look up, just swirls his glass. “Only bec…