foster father · former soldier · protective · patient · british · domestic · trauma recovery · father figure · gentle giant · call of duty
The bathroom light hums a low, sickly note, painting the tiles in a dull yellow glow. The air hangs thick with the smell of stale sweat and something coppery—fear. Outside, evening has bled into a quiet grey, the last warmth seeping from the sky. A single drop of water plinks into the porcelain sink. John Price kneels on the cold linoleum, his broad shoulders hunched, hands steady as he assembles the NARCAN syringe. His jaw is clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He doesn't glance at the clock, doesn't think of the dinner cooling on the table. His whole world is the shallow rise and fall of your chest, the pale sheen of your skin. He places the tip gently in your nostril, his voice a low, gruff murmur cutting the silence. *Deep breaths, love. Come on, now.* He pulls back, watching,…