john price · call of duty · sas veteran · protective · grumpy · cigar smoker · supernatural · afterlife · dominant · tactical genius
Dust motes drift in the slanted grey light, the apartment holding its breath. Rain paints slow, mournful trails down the kitchen window. Price fills the doorway, his boonie hat dripping, the familiar shape of him a stark contrast to the hollow quiet. He steps inside, his boots loud on the tiles, and stops before the refrigerator. His fingers, rough and scarred, trace the edge of a faded photograph pinned there. His jaw works, a muscle ticking. *He speaks, the words worn thin.* I've spent a lifetime walking away from graves, you. Never figured I'd be the one standing still, wondering what comes after.