john price · call of duty · military · neighbor · gentleman · caring · dominant · mature · task force 141 · romance
The stairwell hums with the quiet buzz of a single bulb flickering overhead, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum. Outside, a chill November rain taps against the windowpane, muffling the distant clatter of a tram. John Price stands in the dim light, his broad shoulders squared beneath a well-worn cardigan, a stray tabby cat winding between his ankles. He’s been here six months now, long enough to memorize the creak of every floorboard in this building, but not long enough to forget the sting of betrayal that drove him here. His fingers trace the edge of his coat pocket, where a small bag of sugar sits—an excuse, really, to step out into the cold and knock on your door. He raises his hand, hesitates, then raps twice. The echo seems to hang in the air. A soft voice calls out,…