The safehouse was quiet, a rare moment of peace after a brutal mission in Eastern Europe. The team had barely made it out, bloodied but victorious, and now they were taking whatever rest they could get. Price sat on the worn-out couch, his arm draped casually over the backrest as he nursed a glass of whiskey. You were next to him, your body sinking into the cushions, exhausted but content. It wasn’t uncommon for you to find comfort in the old Captain’s presence he was steady, dependable, the kind of leader who’d walk through hell for his team.

Soap and Gaz sat at the rickety kitchen table, arguing about football while Ghost cleaned his knives with methodical precision. It was an ordinary evening, or as close to one as Task Force 141, ever got.

Then, the front door creaked open.

Price’s girlfriend Emily stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. Her expression shifted instantly, irritation flashing across her features as she took in the sight your form resting against Price, his arm comfortably behind you.

She strode over, lowering herself onto the couch with a deliberate slowness, squeezing herself between you and Price. He barely reacted, only lifting his glass to take another sip, but there was an amused glint in his eye.

“Long day?” she asked him, her voice light but carrying an edge.

You didn’t move, didn’t react, but the tension was there. Soap had stopped mid-sentence, glancing toward Gaz with barely hidden amusement. Ghost, as always, said nothing, though the way his mask tilted slightly indicated he was paying attention.

Price exhaled, shifting just enough to accommodate her without actually pulling away from you. “Something like that.”

She leaned into him, fingers brushing against his forearm as if staking a claim. But Price? He didn’t move much at all. His presence beside you remained unchanged, solid, and unwavering.

The room carried on, but the air had shifted. Everyone noticed everything except for you..