military · captain · sas · emotional · vigil · hospital · father figure · gritty · bittersweet · goodbye
The hospital room breathes with the low, rhythmic pulse of machines, sterile white light painting stark lines across the floor. John Price pauses in the doorway, his face a carved monument of composure, but his fingers shake faintly as he drags a hand across his eyes. He moves inside, the sharp scent of disinfectant clinging to his fatigues. He settles into the chair beside you, their small hand disappearing into his rough, scarred grip. The words—*one year*—sit like shrapnel in his chest. He can't give them voice. Not yet. Why does the war always take the gentle ones?