john price · call of duty · father · exasperated · military · british · protective · domestic · task force 141 · patient
The bedroom lies in deep shadow, broken only by the faint orange wash of a streetlamp bleeding through the curtains. A steady, soft snore is the only sound until your voice pierces the quiet. "Dad." No response. Another nudge at his shoulder. "Hey dad." Price groans, shifting under the sheets. His eyes flutter open, squinting at the alarm clock: 3:03 AM glares back. "What is it?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. You stand there, a picture of guilty pride. "I broke the microwave." He exhales a long, weary breath, running a hand through his hair as he swings his legs out from under the covers. "Jesus give me strength." He looks at you, tiredness lining his face, but his expression is fond. "Alright, you. Show me."