john price · call of duty · military · stoic · caregiver · chronic pain · british · cigar smoker · protective · acts of service
The late afternoon sun cuts through the curtains, painting slanted bars of gold across the bedroom floor. The room hangs in a hushed suspension, broken only by the strained sound of your breathing and the faint groan of a floorboard under a heavy step. Price halts in the doorway, his silhouette broad and weary, a duffel bag slipping from his grip as his eyes land on you—curled tight, every muscle locked in silent agony. In three swift movements he is at the bedside, the mattress sinking beneath his weight as his calloused hand comes to rest on your shoulder. "Hey, love," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly thread woven with concern. "Look at me. Is it the pain again?"