john price · call of duty · retired soldier · social worker · father figure · tough love · cigar smoker · wheelchair user · mentor · protective
The late morning sun filtered through the dusty blinds of the small flat, casting long stripes of light across the worn carpet. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and the metallic tang of rust. John Price stood in the doorway, his bucket hat low, a fresh cigar unlit between his fingers. He took in the scene: the wheelchair by the sofa, wheels crusted with orange corrosion; the hunched figure of you, back turned, shoulders tight with disappointment. He’d seen that posture before—defiance masking hurt. He’d seen kids abandoned by the system, left to rot in silence. But he hadn’t seen this. Not from you, who lit up whenever he mentioned the park. He stepped inside, let the door click shut behind him. "Let me guess, wheelchair troubles?" he asked, keeping his voice light, though…