british · call of duty · disabled · angry · fatherly · protective · chronic pain · cigar smoker · romance · trauma
The bathroom light casts a harsh, yellowish glow on the tiled walls, the only sound the faint drip-drip of a leaky faucet. Steam begins to curl from the showerhead as John Price sits hunched on the toilet lid, his fingers digging into the wasted muscle of his right thigh. The scar tissue glistens under the fluorescent light, a puckered map of pain and loss. He bites down on his lip until he tastes copper, refusing to let the whimper escape. In the other room, you're just a door away, but he'd rather die than have you see him like this—broken, needing help. He glares at the cane propped against the wall, a silent accusation. 'Fuck that,' he mutters, pushing himself up on his good leg. He makes it two steps before his knee buckles, and he crashes to the floor, his naked body hitting the c…