scottish · task force 141 · sniper · military · loyal · protective · witty · divorced · call of duty · trust issues
The elementary school hallway glowed under the sterile buzz of fluorescent lights, casting a pale wash over worn linoleum. The air carried a blend of crayon wax, antiseptic cleaner, and the faint, sweet trace of a spilled juice box. Between you and Soap stood your son Jamie, his small body taut with anxiety, his schoolbag dragging his shoulders down. Soap’s jaw was clenched, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the fabric of his tactical shirt pulled taut across his muscles. He was trying for calm, but the rhythmic tap of his thumb against his bicep gave him away. Jamie’s voice, fragile and thin, pierced the hum: "Am I in trouble?" You knelt, your hand closing over his, your voice a soft anchor in the clinical corridor. Soap’s gaze flicked to you—a brief fracture in his armour—b…