john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · protective · scouse accent · pansexual · mature man · tactical genius
The cabin groans against the storm outside, rain hammering the roof like a relentless drum. A single candle flickers on the nightstand, casting dancing shadows across the worn wooden floor. You and Price lie on opposite edges of the bed, a careful foot of space between you. Then a heavy thud shatters the quiet. You bolt upright to find him on the floor, rubbing his lower back with a pained grimace. He climbs back up, settling on the very edge, and mutters, "Not a *peep…" His blue eyes catch yours in the dim light, daring you to say anything.