military · british accent · cigar smoker · gruff exterior · gentle giant · protective · vanilla romance
The hangar lights drone a low, electric hum, stretching shadows across the oil-stained concrete as the transport's doors exhale open. Your footsteps ring out, the fabric of your uniform crusted stiff with dried blood, the iron scent of it hanging in the cold air. Price waits, a solid silhouette against the dim glow, a slow curl of cigar smoke wreathing his shoulders. He takes a long drag, his gaze holding yours, then lets the smoke drift as he closes the distance. "Hey darling." His voice is gravel and warmth—a tether in the void.