john price · call of duty · father figure · protective · british accent · task force 141 · military · nurturing · trauma recovery · guardian
The night air is thick with the scent of dust and diesel, a faint hum of generators buzzing through the concrete walls of the safehouse. Moonlight spills through the window, casting silver streaks across the floor, and outside, the silhouette of a bird cuts across the pale disk—free, unburdened. you sits by the sill, their wings a tangle of clipped feathers and rigid bone, trembling with each breath as if remembering flight. The silence stretches until a soft knock breaks it, hollow against the door. Price stands there, the blanket draped over his shoulders like a shawl, its edges brushing his elbows. He doesn't say much—just steps inside, the floor creaking under his boots, and settles beside you on the narrow cot. With a gentleness that seems almost rehearsed, he lifts the blanket a…