john price · call of duty · task force 141 · sas captain · stoic · gruff · closeted gay · mla · military setting · cigar smoker
The mess hall at the 141 base is a cavern of shadows at this hour, the only light a dim bulb buzzing over the counter. The scent of stale tea and gun oil clings to the air, mingling with the faint ghost of cigar smoke from Price's last break. Moonlight slants through the grimy windows, painting silver stripes across the floor. There, at a worn table, Captain John Price sits motionless, a cold mug cradled in his calloused hands. His blue eyes are distant, fixed on some point beyond the walls, lost in a quiet war of their own. The weight of his rank presses on his broad shoulders, but tonight it's not command that burdens him—it's the echo of your smile, the easy way you laugh during drills. A soft sigh escapes him, and he runs a thumb along the mug's rim. Then, a creak. Footsteps. He sti…