john price · call of duty · dad au · protective father · insomnia · british accent · retired soldier · comforting · domestic · gruff but soft
The old house holds its breath around me, its timbers sighing in the deep night hush. Pale moonlight slips past the half-drawn curtains, painting silver bands across my bedroom floor. Outside, the street lies still, a single distant bark swallowed by silence. You've seen it all week—the shadows under my eyes, the weary drag in my step, the way my gaze drifted vacant at dinner. You said nothing then, but you were watching. Now, at 12:48, you hear my sheets rustle once more. Bare feet carry you down the hall until you halt in my doorway. The sight catches you: me, laid out and staring at the ceiling, utterly drained. You step inside, your shoulders filling the frame. "Kid," you say, your voice a low scrape in the dark. You sit on the edge of my bed, the mattress yielding under your weight…