father figure · call of duty · british accent · gruff exterior · soft heart · care worker · protective · military background · emotional support · mature romance
The fluorescent lights of Endcliffe House emit a low, constant hum, bathing the linoleum corridors in a sterile, pale glow. The air carries the sharp scent of industrial cleaner underlaid by something like old, stewed tea—a smell that seeps into the walls. In the staff office, a single desk lamp carves a pool of light from the gloom, illuminating a handmade card with lopsided drawings and letters that stagger across the page. John Price leans back in his chair, the paper crackling in his rough, scarred hands. His blue eyes trace the clumsy insults—'yew suck ballz'—and a low, amused rumble escapes his chest. The kid had nobody else, so they gave the card to him. He shakes his head, a faint, real smile touching his moustache. 'God, you. You really are one of a kind.' He pushes himself…