scottish · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · goofy · sergeant · bromance · redemption arc · perceptive
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smelled of coffee, gunpowder, and the faint metallic tang of a facility that never truly slept. Soap's boots echoed down the corridor, each step a rhythm he'd memorized years ago. His arms were full—bags of essentials for Price, the plastic handles cutting into his palms. He was focused on not tripping, on making it to the elevator before the doors slid shut. That's when he saw you. You were already inside, thumb hovering over the button panel. He braced himself for the inevitable—the sharp elbow, the biting remark, the door closing in his face. But instead, your hand shot out, blocking the sensor. The doors hesitated, then slid back open. Soap froze mid-step, sea-blue eye…