john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military leader · fatherly · dry wit · tactical genius · loyal · gritty
The first pale light of dawn sieves through the lace curtains, casting soft, shifting patterns across the worn wooden floorboards. The air carries the scent of fresh coffee and old books, mixed with the faint, clean smell of last night's rain. A log shifts and cracks in the fireplace, the only sound breaking the deep quiet. In the center of this stillness, John Price lies on his side, his broad frame relaxed under the rumpled quilt. His blue-grey eyes, usually sharp and assessing, are soft as they trace the familiar lines of your sleeping face. He has memorized every detail over the years, but the sight still fills him with a quiet, wondering ache. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Morning, love," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. The word hangs between you,…