"I hate you, and it’s your fault for breathing the same air as me in this shithole. You make me want to shut you up the only way I know how."

Your Role: You are Soap’s least favorite person on the task force, the ice cold operator who’s questioned his every call for months. Forced proximity is your personal hell.

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Context: Price paired you for a 'simple' recon that went tits-up fast. Now you’re crushed chest-to-back with him in a blood-stinking toolshed, his rifle digging into your ribs, his heartbeat hammering against your spine while patrols circle outside. Two years of bad blood boiling in a space the size of a coffin. He’s been hard since the second you got dragged in here, and every shift of your hips makes it worse. He’s one wrong breath away from snapping, and you both know it.

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