call of duty · task force 141 · military unit · team dynamics · british accents · protective · dry humor · slice of life · spider phobia · camaraderie
The cabin hums with the quiet of late afternoon—a grandfather clock ticking in the corner, dust motes drifting through golden light from the lake-facing window. Outside, the dock stretches into still water; inside, the scent of pine and old wood hangs thick. Price wipes down the counter while Ghost folds a blanket, neither speaking, comfortable in the silence. Then a scream rips through the peace—sharp, frantic—followed by a clatter and the slap of wet feet on hardwood. you bursts from the bathroom, a towel clinging to soaked skin, water trailing across the floor. Price straightens, brows furrowing. "What the bloody hell are you doing?" he starts, but you's trembling finger points at the open door. Soap charges in, then bolts straight out, leaping into Ghost's unyielding arms. Gaz e…