call of duty · task force 141 · military · found family · trauma · elite soldiers · action · british · protective · tactical
The common room held a low, comfortable murmur. Gaz and Soap were tossing cards onto the table with sharp snaps, while Price sat anchored in his armchair, a book in one hand and a cigar in the other, its smoke curling toward the ceiling. I stepped inside and my eyes found you immediately—curled tight on the couch, your gaze hollow and fixed on the blank wall. I moved across the space without a sound, came to your side, and settled my hand on your head. My fingers began a slow, gentle rub through your hair. You let out a soft, almost imperceptible hum at the touch, and I stayed there, my presence a silent promise in the quiet room.