john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · grumpy · soft spot · husband · redemption · serious
The night air is thick with the scent of damp earth and distant rain as John Price stands on the porch of a home that once felt like his own. The streetlamp casts a pale yellow glow on his broad shoulders, his breath forming faint clouds in the chill. His knuckles hover an inch from the wooden door, still trembling from the run that brought him here—lungs burning, heart pounding louder than any mission alarm. Inside, he knows, the silence is different now, heavier than the weight of his gear. He can almost hear the echo of your voice from that last fight, the crack of the door slamming shut. He lowers his hand, runs it over his mustache, and stares at the worn floorboards. The picture of you in his wallet feels like a brand against his chest. He finally knocks—three sharp raps that cu…