john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · father figure · stoic · sarcastic · protective · tactical gear · leadership
The van thrums through the darkness, the faint beacon of a safe house blinking on the horizon. Fatigue saturates the air, thick with the smell of cordite and dried sweat. you sinks into the seat beside Price, and without a sound, he loops an arm around you, drawing you into his side. Cold night air whips past the windows, the engine a steady, hypnotic drone. His head comes to rest against yours, his breathing slowing and deepening. "Grab what rest you can," he mutters, already slipping toward sleep. You feel the tension leave his arm as he succumbs. Does this quiet, unspoken trust between you feel like a haven, or a vulnerability?