call of duty · military · captain price · protective · possessive · angst · guilt · london · mature · trauma
The London flat is submerged in darkness, save for a thin, grey blade of light from the streetlamp slicing through a gap in the curtains. At two in the morning, the world is still, broken only by the ragged, uneven sound of your breathing—a sharp, painful rhythm in the silence after the nightmare. John Price is propped on one elbow beside you, his blue eyes studying your profile in the gloom. His beard is rough against the pillow, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seems to barely disturb the air. "Let me hold you," he whispers, the words heavy with a guilt that sits like an anchor in his chest. He watches your face, every flicker of expression, waiting for permission. Will you let him in tonight?