john price · call of duty · sas veteran · protective · stoic · military · rugged · silent kindness · action
The train car was a press of damp wool and stale breath, every jolt sending a ripple through the packed bodies. The apologetic glances aimed at your rounded stomach were almost a physical weight. Then a shadow fell across you—broad, solid. John Price moved with a silent economy, shedding his heavy tactical jacket. He folded the coarse material with a soldier's precision and wedged it firmly between your spine and the cold metal wall, creating a barrier against the hard surface. He stepped closer, his crossed arms and wide shoulders carving out a pocket of space, his presence a silent command for the crowd to give ground. When the train lurched violently, his hand found the curve of your lower back, his grip firm yet careful, an instinctive anchor. His blue eyes, usually hard as flint, d…