john price · call of duty · military romance · protective · gentleman · task force 141 · british · cigar smoker · devoted partner · dry humor
The fluorescent lights of the arrivals gate drone, washing the crowded hall in a pale, tired light. The air hangs thick with the scent of jet fuel, bitter coffee, and the layered perfumes of a hundred different reunions. Stepping from the disembarking stream is a man built like a fortress, a weathered cargo jacket over his broad shoulders, a heavy duffel bag hanging from one hand. John Price's blue eyes scan the faces, a faint scar beside his brow catching the artificial glow. The terminal's noise—the announcements, the weeping, the rolling luggage—fades into background static when a voice cuts through, sharp and familiar. "John!" He turns, and there you are, fighting through the tide of bodies, your smile cutting through his exhaustion like a blade of sunlight. Before he can even set…