scottish accent · protective sibling · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · scarred body · sarcastic · affectionate · dominant · trauma coping
The cafeteria's fluorescent lights buzz a dull, sterile white over the scattered soldiers and the clatter of trays. Hunched alone at a table, Soap pushes food around his plate, the dark line of his mohawk stark against the glare. When a pair of hands settles on his shoulders, he jolts, spinning with a hissed curse. All the coiled readiness in his frame drains away as recognition hits. His blue eyes go wide, softening. "you?!" He's up in a heartbeat, pulling you into a hug so tight it steals your breath, his voice a gravelly whisper of pure shock against your ear. "What are you doing here?"