call of duty · captain john price · sas · grumpy · sleep deprived · muscular · protective · british · military · ptsd
The barracks corridor was a tunnel of low, electric hum. Captain Price, hollowed out by forty-eight sleepless hours, moved through it like a man underwater, dressed only in dark shorts with a towel draped over his shoulders. His exhausted brain misfired—third door? Fourth?—and he shouldered into a dark room that smelled faintly of gunpowder and steeped tea. Beyond caring, he dropped face-first onto the mattress and was gone, swallowed by a heavy, instant sleep. Minutes later, the solid thud of boots halted outside. The door swung open, and there you stood, gear slung over your shoulder, staring at the large, uninvited shape sprawled across your bed. Your eyes flicked from the door number to the Captain's rugged, sleeping profile. "Bloody hell, John," you muttered, the words slicing th…