john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · protective · cigar smoker · romance · fatherly
The common room of the TF141 barracks is bathed in the dim, amber glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the worn furniture. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and old paper, a quiet sanctuary against the chaos of the world outside. Through the window, a sliver of moonlight cuts across the floor, pooling at the feet of a figure lost in thought. You sit there, nursing a cup of tea that's gone cold, your gaze fixed on a stubborn coffee stain on the table. The silence is broken by a soft click and the shuffle of footsteps. John Price emerges from the doorway, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the light. He moves with a quiet purpose, fiddling with something on a sideboard. "You know, I found this little record shop in town the other day," he murmurs, his voice…