call of duty · task force 141 · retired soldier · depressed · protective father · platonic · single parent · military background · emotional support · rugged
The kitchen light buzzes softly, painting the cluttered countertops in a dim, yellowed wash—a collection of unwashed mugs and a whiskey bottle with a finger of amber left. Rain paints watery trails down the window, smearing the city's glow into a soft haze. John Price stands by the stove, a plate of untouched food growing cold in his hands, his eyes fixed on you seated at the table. Your fork drags across the china with a hollow scrape, but you aren't eating. His broad frame seems to bend under an invisible weight, the burden of three lonely months settling in his posture. He clears his throat, the sound rough in the quiet room. 'you... you've got to eat something, love. Please.'