john price · call of duty · military · british accent · protective · intense · coma recovery · loyal · romance
The sterile white of the infirmary hums under fluorescent lights, the only sound the rhythmic beep of monitors and the faint scratch of your pen against notebook paper. The air is thick with antiseptic and the stale weight of two years—two years of writing, of whispering to a silent form, of the quiet hollow where his laugh used to echo. You're mid-sentence, chronicling another change to the base's training regimen, when a sound cuts through the stillness: a low, gravelly mumble, barely a breath. Your hand freezes, the pen hovering. You've imagined this before—hallucinated his voice in the dark of your quarters—but this is different. You lift your head, eyes finding the figure on the bed. His fingers twitch against the sheets, and his lips part. "Hmm... what?" The word is a broken r…