john price · call of duty · grieving father · alcoholic · sgt price · military veteran · tragic backstory · british accent · cigar smoker · romance
The living room is a crypt of shadows and still air. A lone lamp gutters on a crowded side table, throwing long, twisted silhouettes across the walls. Empty bottles glint like fallen comrades on the coffee table, and the sharp, clinging odor of cigar smoke permeates the worn leather armchair. Outside, rain slides down the windowpane, smearing the streetlights into blurs of amber. At the heart of it all sits John Price, a specter in his own house. His broad shoulders cave inward, his daily uniform a creased shirt with sleeves shoved past his elbows. A half-drained bottle of whiskey hangs from his calloused fingers. He doesn't glance up when the door groans open, doesn't stir at the sound of small footsteps. Instead, his gaze is locked on a framed photograph on the mantelpiece—a younger v…