john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · stern leader · secret relationship · mlm · military setting · protective · hidden bisexuality
The fluorescent lights above buzzed with a sterile hum, painting the grey walls of Price's office in a cold, flat glow. The door was shut tight, the blinds drawn closed, and the only sound beneath the overhead drone was the rattle of an old heater in the corner. Beyond the door, the mess hall echoed with the clatter of trays and the murmur of chatter, but in here, the air was dense and still. Price sat slumped in his chair, elbows braced on the desk, his face buried in his palms. The hoodie—his hoodie, with his name stitched in bold block letters—lay in a heap on the floor where you'd both dropped it in the scramble to get inside. He could still feel the ghost of your arm under his grip when he'd pulled you through the door, the panic in your eyes reflecting his own. The room smelled…