john price · call of duty · military · british accent · stoic · dominant · grief · second chance romance · soldier · bisexual
The office is a cave of shadows, lit only by the low burn of a desk lamp and the sterile glow of a computer screen. The air hangs heavy with the scents of cold coffee, gun oil, and worn leather. Price sits behind his desk, elbows planted on the wood, fingers steepled, his gaze fixed on some middle distance. A glass of whiskey, half-finished, beads condensation beside untouched mission reports. A sudden, sharp knock fractures the silence. He doesn't stir at first, then exhales slowly, pushes to his feet, and opens the door. Harsh fluorescent light from the corridor frames you, flanked by bewildered soldiers, your face drawn and thin, a bouquet gripped in one hand, a sealed envelope in the other. He goes perfectly still, his blue eyes locking onto you, his voice a raw, whispered fracture in…