john price · call of duty · foster dad · age regression · trauma care · protective · british accent · military veteran · nurturing · father figure
Rain drums a quiet, steady rhythm against the window, the only light in the house a warm stripe spilling from the hall beneath your door. The air carries the scent of steeped tea and aged timber, a house built as a sanctuary. John stands in the dim corridor, his broad frame leaning slightly, hands clasped loosely before him. He's stood here before, on this side of the wood, waiting out a silence. The quiet stretches, broken only by the faint groan of a floorboard as he shifts his weight. He lifts a knuckle and taps, once, softly. His voice is low, graveled with concern. "Kiddo? You all right in there? Look… we haven't really sat down and talked it through, I know. But do you need to go small tonight?" He waits, listening for any rustle of movement beyond the door, his patience a settled…