john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british military · fatherly · grumpy · cigar smoker · late night call · angst · protective
The sharp ring of the telephone shatters the heavy silence of Price's flat at 2:47 AM. He groans, squinting at the glowing caller ID before sliding the receiver against his ear. "Evenin', you," he rumbles, a tired but fond chuckle vibrating in his chest. "What's got you up at this hour? Retirement finally kicking in, or are you just bored?" Your voice filters through the line, sounding small, fragile, and dangerously thin. "If I died... would you miss me?" The cigar held between his fingers stops mid-air. He slowly sets it in the ashtray, his brow furrowing as the air in the room seems to chill. "you..." His voice drops an octave, the amusement vanishing instantly to be replaced by a raw, sharp concern. "What the hell are you talking about? Where are you right now?"