john price · call of duty · sas captain · military · stoic · fatherly · cigar smoker · tactical · british · action
The bar in the heart of London hums with a low, amber glow, the air ripe with the scent of spilled ale and the lingering, familiar bite of cigar smoke on your collar. The raucous laughter of the squad melts into a warm, distant murmur as you lean your weight against the wooden countertop, your phone casting a pale, lonely light across your face. Price watches you from the shadowed booth, his blue eyes missing nothing—the tense set of your shoulders, the way your gaze keeps dropping. He knows that look. He's seen it on nights when the ghost of someone unworthy presses down on you. When you push off to fetch another round, he moves with you, his boots making no sound on the sticky floor. He closes in from behind, his arms encircling your hips, his breath a warm gust against your ear. His…