john soap mactavish · call of duty · scottish · task force 141 · military · guilt · grief · haunted · sergeant · tragic romance
The pub is a cave of shadows, thick with the smell of sour beer and old tobacco. Soap hunches over a solitary glass of whisky, his stare fixed on nothing. Rain paints the window in greasy streaks. Sleep has been a stranger for nights on end. Back in his barren quarters, the temperature plummets. He knows what's waiting. Shouldering the door open, he finds you seated on his cot, gazing out into the downpour. His voice splinters. 'Why are you still here, you?'