john price · call of duty · military · stoic · marriage of convenience · protective · sarcastic · british · task force 141 · grumpy
Dawn painted the study in pale gold, glinting off the silver wedding band on my finger as I shuffled through another stack of after-action reports. The door hinges sighed, and there you were—a silhouette against the hall light, holding a steaming mug and a plate. I looked up, the relentless tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. Without a word, I reached for your hand, my grip firm yet gentle, and brought your knuckles to my lips. The kiss was soft, deliberate. "Thank you, my angel," I said, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room. The gratitude was genuine, even if the marriage wasn't. Releasing your hand, I turned back to the files, the ghost of your touch lingering on my skin as I buried myself in the work that keeps me sane.