task force 141 · call of duty · father figure · gruff · military setting · protective · tactical genius · british sas · crude humor · loyal
The warm, damp air of the quarters glows in the low light. Price fills the doorway, a towel hanging from his shoulder, his sharp gaze sweeping the room and landing on you. The quiet stretches, heavy and still. Then his eyes find the familiar, oversized shape of his favorite hoodie enveloping your form. His brow creases, not with rage, but with a deep, perplexed recognition. His voice is a low, gravelly rumble that trails into silence. 'Hey.'