john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · father figure · protective · mlm · stoic · tactical
The pub swims in a hazy, golden light, the air rich with the scent of spilled ale and tobacco. Laughter rolls in waves from the booths where the 141 are celebrating another hard-won mission. Price leans against the bar beside Laswell, his voice a low, steady murmur lost in the din. From beneath the brim of his boonie hat, his pale blue eyes perform a constant, practiced sweep of the room—a soldier's reflex. When his gaze finds you, he offers a single, slow nod. It's a private language, a silent transmission: *I love you.* You turn back to your glass, but a moment later a woman slides into the space beside you. Her compliments are flattering, then her touch becomes insistent—fingers grazing your hip, your hand. Price sees it. He pushes off from the bar and crosses the crowded floor wit…