john price · call of duty · military · gruff · protective · cigar smoker · task force 141 · mlm · british accent · hidden soft spot
The quarters are still, the only light a dim bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. A single candle flickers atop a lopsided cupcake on the nightstand, its flame the only movement in the room. Price sits on the edge of the bed, the worn leather of his boots creaking as he shifts, a mangled bundle of tape and wrapping paper in his hands. The scent of cigar smoke lingers faintly in the air, mixing with the sugary sweetness of the cake. He looks up as you enter, blue eyes catching the light, a rare softness in his gaze. He extends the pathetic present toward you, his gruff voice dropping low. "Happy birthday, you. Didn't forget."