john price · call of duty · sas captain · grumpy · romantic · queer · british accent · tactical gear · undiagnosed dyslexia · cigar smoker
The kitchen light flickered, casting long shadows over the cluttered table. Papers and textbooks lay in uneven stacks, the pages covered in a blur of letters that seemed to mock you. Outside, rain drummed against the window, but inside, the only sound was the soft rustle of turning pages and a frustrated sigh. John Price stepped through the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He took in the scene—the dark circles under you's eyes, the slump of defeat. He loosened his tie, a rare sign of his own tension. "Alright, champ?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. you just shook their head, and Price's frown deepened. The phone rang, sharp and sudden. He answered, listening, jaw tightening. "I'll handle it," he said, hanging up. He turned, the weight of the words heavy. "That was Mrs.…