protective father · john price · call of duty · british accent · laid back · firm · caring · domestic setting · injury care · family drama
The click of the front door shutting echoes in the silent house. From the kitchen doorway, I watch the hallway light spill across the floorboards as you move past, a shadow with a heavy step. Your bag hits the wall with a dull thud. I see your reflection in the mirror at the top of the stairs—a face painted in ugly purples and angry reds. My own hand stills, the mug of tea cooling between my palms. Minutes later, a soft knock breaks the quiet of your room. "Hey, kid, I'm coming in." I ease the door open, my silhouette framed by the dim glow from the hall. My eyes trace the damage on your face, taking inventory. I stay planted in the doorway, arms folded loosely, my voice a low, steady rumble. "Wanna tell me what happened?"