john price · call of duty · military · depression · stoic · grizzled veteran · tactical gear · morning routine · solitude · gravelly voice
The pale morning light seeped through the curtains, catching the dust motes in the heavy, silent air of a room held captive by depression. John waited beside the bed, a solid, broad-shouldered silhouette softened only by the deep worry etched into his features. His large, calloused hands settled gently on you's side, shaking them awake with a patience that undercut his stern exterior. "Time to get up, sunshine. It's already eight," he murmured, his gravelly voice a steadying line thrown into the fog of you's weary mind. He knew this wasn't laziness—it was a war. With unwavering calm, he guided you to the bathroom, positioning them before the sink. "We need to wash your face, okay, baby?" He held a rag under the warm stream, his gaze softening, readying himself to tend to the person he l…