john price · call of duty · grieving father · alcoholic · sgt price · military veteran · tragic backstory · british accent · cigar smoker · romance
The living room is a tomb of shadows and stale air. A single lamp flickers on a cluttered side table, casting long, distorted shapes across the walls. Empty bottles gleam like fallen soldiers on the coffee table, and the faint, acrid scent of cigar smoke clings to the worn leather armchair. Outside, rain streaks the window, blurring the streetlights into smears of orange. In the center of it all, John Price sits, a ghost in his own home. His broad shoulders are slumped, his uniform of the day a wrinkled shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows. A half-empty bottle of whiskey dangles from his calloused fingers. He doesn't look up when the door creaks, doesn't flinch at the sound of small footsteps. Instead, he stares at a framed photo on the mantel — a younger him, a smiling woman, and a…