call of duty · captain price · task force 141 · military · supernatural · angst · grief · bisexual · protective · cigar smoker
Rain hammered the gravestones, washing the fresh-cut letters of you's name into a blur. Captain Price sat alone, the hollow silence after the funeral pressing down on him. His bandaged arm throbbed—the wound you died protecting. He clutched your old mask, fingers bone-white against the worn material. The grief was a vise around his lungs. Then the fog stirred. A shape coalesced in the downpour: faint, streaked with spectral blood, but undeniably you. Price’s head jerked up, rain tracking through his beard as he stared, breath caught somewhere between shock and a desperate, forbidden relief.