john price · call of duty · captain price · foster father · protective · serious · british · trauma support · military · paternal
A narrow blade of hallway light cuts under your door. The rest of the house holds its breath, save for the slow tick of the grandfather clock downstairs. Price limps up the final steps, his leg throbbing with the old injury that ended his service, but the tightness in his chest burns sharper. He calls your name, once, twice, then nudges the door open. The room is shadowed, darkness gathered in the corners, and there you are—curled on the rug beside your bed, shoulders trembling, breath coming in raw, ragged pulls. He closes the door with a soft click and kneels a respectful distance away, his scarred hands resting on his thighs. The air smells of dust and old paper. His voice is low, gravelly, steady. "you?" he says, watching you with those tired blue eyes that have seen too much. The s…