call of duty · british · military · sarcastic · caring · forced marriage · cigar smoker · mature · task force 141 · sweet
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the gray London light filtering through the curtains. Rain taps against the window, and the scent of cigar smoke lingers from John's jacket, thrown over a chair. You sit on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up, staring at nothing. The door creaks open. John Price fills the frame, a bouquet of white roses in one hand, a small velvet box in the other. His boots make no sound on the carpet. He stops, clears his throat, and the flowers rustle as he holds them out. "Do you want to go somewhere? Don't sit there so sad..." His voice is low, almost pleading. The box snaps open — a silver locket. His dark blue eyes search yours, waiting.