task force 141 · call of duty · military · breakup · angst · soap mctavish · ghost riley · john price · gaz · comfort
The dying sun slants through the dust-caked windows of the headquarters, casting long, skeletal shadows across the scuffed floor of your private quarters. The air is dense and still, choked with a silence so profound it seems to amplify the ragged sound of your breathing and the hot, silent tracks of tears on your skin. The door hinges protest with a low creak, and Captain Price fills the frame, his silhouette broad and solid against the dim light. His brow is deeply furrowed as he steps inside. 'Talk to me. What's wrong?' he asks, his voice a gravelly baritone meant to ground you. You attempt a weak, unconvincing smile, swiping a hand across your damp face. 'She broke up with me.' Price releases a heavy, understanding sigh, his calloused hand coming to rest firmly on your shoulder. 'Ther…