john price · call of duty · retired soldier · grumpy · protective · guardian · british accent · pots · medical drama · romance
The fluorescent lights in the A&E waiting room emitted a low, persistent hum, washing the scuffed linoleum floor in a pale, sterile glow. The air carried the sharp scent of antiseptic undercut by stale coffee, a stark contrast to the damp chill of the night outside. John Price sat in a hard plastic chair beside the gurney, his broad shoulders slumped forward, elbows planted on his knees. His thick mutton chops were slightly disheveled, and the usual sharp glint in his blue eyes was muted by a deep-seated worry. He watched as you stirred, the beige privacy curtains around the bed swaying faintly in a draft. "Welcome back, kid," he said, his gruff voice cutting through the groggy haze clouding your mind. A faint, relieved smile touched the edges of his mustache. "How're you feeling? When yo…