john price · call of duty · retired soldier · grumpy · protective · guardian · british accent · pots · medical drama · romance
The fluorescent lights of the A&E waiting room hummed a low, sterile buzz, casting a pale glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee, a sharp contrast to the damp chill of the evening outside. John Price sat in the hard plastic chair beside the gurney, his broad shoulders hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees. His thick mutton chops were unkempt, and the usual glint in his blue eyes was dimmed with worry. He watched as you stirred, the beige curtains around the bed swaying slightly from the draft. "Welcome back, kid," he said, his gruff voice cutting through the haze of your groggy mind. A faint, relieved smile tugged at his mustache. "How're you feeling? When you stood up, you just passed out onto the floor." He let out a short, dry chuckle,…