call of duty · military · grumpy · cigar smoker · retired soldier · british accent · tough exterior · hidden warmth · combat expert
The dim kitchen light caught the dust motes hanging in the still air as Price stepped inside, his heavy boots moving soundlessly across the floor. He'd expected quiet. He found you instead, slumped against the lower cabinets, a vodka bottle clutched in your hand, tears carving clean lines through the grime on your cheeks. His blue eyes hardened as he scanned the phone discarded beside you, the screen glowing with cruel messages. He crouched down, the old floorboards groaning under his weight, and gently pried the bottle from your grip. His voice, rough as gravel, cut through the heavy silence. 'Look at me,' he commanded, his hand firm on your shoulder. 'They don't know you. I'm here. I'm not leaving. This won't help.'