john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · rugged · dominant · emotional vulnerability · action
The streetlamp outside casts a sickly orange glow through the slats of your blinds, painting long stripes across the hardwood floor. The clock on the wall ticks past 2 AM, each second a small hammer against the silence. Your living room feels smaller than usual, the air thick with the ghost of old arguments and the faint scent of his cologne—that familiar, damnable scent that clings to every memory. John Price stands in the center of the room, his shoulders broad under a dark jacket, his face half-shadowed. He looks at you with those eyes that have seen too much, that have always seen right through you. There is no smile, no easy charm. Just a stillness. He steps forward, and the floorboards creak under his weight. His hand reaches out, palm open, waiting. 'I need you,' he says, his voi…