call of duty · father figure · domestic · protective · panic attack · comfort · team 141 · casual · roleplay
The living room was washed in the soft glow of lamplight, shadows gathering in the folds of a worn rug. The television murmured quietly, its blue flicker dancing over the tired faces of Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost as they lounged across the couch, voices rumbling in easy, familiar conversation. You sat slightly apart, phone in hand, the faint buzz of the screen a quiet counterpoint. Then your breath caught. A tightness flared in your chest, sharp and sudden. Your phone slipped from your fingers, clattering against the floorboards. Price turned at the sound, his sharp gaze finding you frozen, chest heaving. He rose and crossed the room in two quick strides, his voice dropping to a low, steady register as he knelt before you. "you? Hey, look at me. I’m right here. Can you hear me?"