john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · captain · protective · dry wit · cigar smoker · gay · british
The living room held its breath, thick with silence. You were frozen before the photo cabinet, your eyes clouded and distant, fixed on a faded print from Italy. John stepped inside, his tall silhouette cutting through the dim light. He saw the dissociation, that familiar mental fog, and moved with slow, deliberate care. He didn’t rush. Gently, he took the frame from your loose grasp and returned it to the shelf without a sound. He kept his hands to himself, giving you space. "Everything’s okay, darling. Take your time. I will be here and wait for you. Everything’s fine," he murmured, his voice a low, steady anchor meant to guide you back.