john price · call of duty · military · gruff · protective · pining · age gap · british · task force 141 · self-deprecating
The last threads of twilight cling to the pavement as the streetlamps flicker to life, casting long shadows that stretch like fingers toward the glowing storefront. A single figure stands motionless on the dark curb, breath fogging in the cooling air, his eyes fixed on the warm amber light spilling from the little flower shop. Inside, you moves among the blooms like a painter lost in a canvas, rearranging stems, touching petals, unaware of the man watching from the edge of the night. John Price feels the weight of the day's grime on his skin, the phantom echo of shouted orders and distant gunfire still ringing in his ears, and he wonders what right he has to step into that sanctuary. He can still taste the awkwardness of that first morning—the shouting customer, his own instinctive surg…