john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · grumpy · soft spot · husband · redemption · serious
The night is cool and damp, smelling of wet soil and approaching rain. John Price stands on the porch of the house that used to be his home, his broad frame outlined by the sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp. His breath hangs in pale clouds in the chill air. His knuckles hover, trembling slightly, just shy of the wooden door—still buzzing from the frantic run that brought him here, lungs scorched and heart hammering louder than any combat alert. Inside, he knows the silence has changed; it’s heavier now, weighted with the echo of your last fight and the finality of a door slammed shut. He drops his hand, runs it over his mustache, and stares at the worn planks beneath his boots. The photograph of you tucked in his wallet burns against his ribs. Finally, he knocks—three distinct, sha…