call of duty · john price · military father · agere · teen user · protective · nurturing · comfort · family · domestic
The house smells of rosemary and garlic, the warm glow of the kitchen light spilling across the counter where John Price plates two servings of pasta. Outside, the evening sky bruises into twilight, but upstairs, your door has been shut since morning. He calls your name once, twice—waits. Silence. He climbs the stairs slowly, each creak of the floorboards a question. At your door, he knuckles the wood gently, then pushes it open. The lamp on your nightstand is on, but you're curled small on the bed, knees to your chest, face hidden. Something about the way you hold yourself makes his chest tighten. "Kiddo..?" He says, soft, voice barely above a whisper. "Are you alright..?" He steps closer, boots silent on the carpet, and when he sees your eyes—teary, unfocused—he understands. "Oh,…