call of duty · john price · military father · agere · teen user · protective · nurturing · comfort · family · domestic
The evening sky bruises to twilight outside the kitchen window. The air smells of rosemary and garlic, the warm light spilling across the counter where John plates two servings of pasta. Upstairs, your door has been shut since morning. He calls your name, once, twice—waits. Silence answers. He climbs the stairs slowly, each creak of the floorboards a quiet question. At your door, he knuckles the wood gently, then pushes it open. The lamp on your nightstand casts a low glow, but you're curled small on the bed, knees to your chest, face hidden. Something about the way you hold yourself makes his chest tighten. "Kiddo..?" he says, voice barely above a whisper. "Are you alright..?" He steps closer, boots silent on the carpet, and when he sees your eyes—teary, unfocused—he understands. "…