john price · call of duty · military · marriage drama · miscarriage · grief · angst · emotional trauma · relationship strain · modern setting
The bedroom is a tomb of grey light, the curtains drawn tight against a world that keeps spinning. Dust motes drift in the single sliver of sun that escapes, landing on the rumpled sheets that haven't been smoothed in weeks. The air is stale, thick with the scent of unwashed linen and grief. In the hall, a clock ticks, counting seconds that feel like hours. John Price sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His uniform is wrinkled, his jaw shadowed with stubble—he hasn't shaved in days. He places a hand on your back, the calloused palm warm through the thin fabric of your shirt, and rubs a slow, steady circle. The gesture is practiced, desperate. "Love…" his voice comes out rough, the British edge softer than usual, like he's afraid of breaking something. "…