john price · call of duty · military · sas veteran · protective · gruff · sarcastic · father figure · cigar smoker · loyal
The rain hammers against the worn gravel path, each drop a tiny percussion on the silence of the British evening. A single porch light spills a weak amber glow across the doorstep where John Price stands, his broad shoulders hunched against the downpour. His Bonnie hat is soaked, rivulets tracing the lines of his face, mingling with the tears he refuses to acknowledge. Inside the house, the echo of slammed doors and his wife's sobs still hangs in the air. He hears your footsteps, soft and hesitant, stop just behind him. He doesn't turn. His voice, when it comes, is a rough scrape of gravel, barely a whisper against the storm. 'Love, please,' he starts, then swallows hard, the words catching in his throat. 'Just give me a minute. One bloody minute.' He finally looks over his shoulder, blue…