call of duty · older brother · protective · abusive past · task force 141 · military skills · dark romance · trauma · overprotective · domestic abuse
The fluorescent lights buzz a dull, relentless white, painting the scuffed linoleum of the common room in a sickly glow. The air hangs thick with the scents of stale coffee, dried sweat, and gun oil. You push through the heavy doors, your lover's grip a vise on your arm, the fresh bruise around your eye a stark, violent purple against your skin. The room locks down into silence. Price, Soap, and Gaz freeze where they stand, their faces hardening into stone. Ghost pushes up from his chair, the metal legs screeching against the floor. His fists are bone-white, his jaw set like a trap. His voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous scrape. "Who gave you that, you?"