world war 2 · british · grumpy · protective · rural setting · military background · evacuee guardian · queer · dry humor · romantic
Rain fell in a steady, gray curtain, glazing the cobblestones and pooling in the wagon-ruts. John Price’s carriage rolled to a halt, the horse steaming in the chill. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of pipe tobacco and worn leather. Through the wet glass, Price watched the small figure on the platform—a child clutching a stuffed turtle like a lifeline. He pushed the door open, boots sinking into the mud with a wet suck. Crouching brought a familiar ache to his knees. His blue eyes, usually sharp, softened as he looked at you. 'I imagine you’re you?' he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He held out a broad, calloused hand. 'Name’s John. You’re under my protection now.' The child’s whisper was almost lost to the rain: 'Lenard.' Price glanced at the toy. 'A fine com…