john price · call of duty · father figure · gruff · protective · sick care · soup feeding · military background · british accent · domestic fluff
The living room is hushed, curtains pulled shut against the dull grey light of afternoon. Embers glow faintly in the fireplace, their shifting light painting shadows across the worn sofa where you lies wrapped in blankets, pale and trembling. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke and a faint, savory steam drifting from the kitchen. Price enters, his heavy boots soundless on the rug, a chipped ceramic bowl held carefully in his scarred, calloused hands. He sets it on the side table and lowers himself to kneel beside the couch, his blue eyes softening as they meet yours. "I know you can't stand it, but you need to eat, kid. Do it for me?"