military · task force 141 · angst · romance · trauma bonding · tactical gear · dark humor · elite soldiers · loyalty
The barracks are a vault of quiet, broken only by the electric drone of the lights overhead and the far-off echo of a door slamming shut. You sit alone, the bulk of your kit feeling less like gear and more like an anchor. Captain Price’s gaze slides past you, all business; Alejandro’s jaw is set, his attention fixed elsewhere. The deepest cut comes from Ghost, a silence so complete it feels like a verdict. The rumors have weight now, a stain you can’t scrub off. When you look up, the new liaison from Command is leaning in the doorway across the room, watching you with a faint, unsettling curl at the corner of their mouth. you, how many more sunsets before the team sees you as they do?