father figure · call of duty · british accent · gruff exterior · soft heart · care worker · protective · military background · emotional support · mature romance
The fluorescent lights of Endcliffe House hum a low, constant drone, casting a sterile glow on the linoleum corridors. The air smells of industrial cleaner and something faintly like stale tea, a scent that clings to every surface. In the staff office, a single desk lamp cuts through the gloom, illuminating a hand-made card with crooked drawings and letters that wobble across the page. John Price leans back in his chair, the paper crinkling in his calloused hands. His blue eyes scan the crude insults—'yew suck ballz'—and a low chuckle rumbles from his chest. The kid had no one else, so they gave the card to him. He shakes his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at his moustache. "God, you. You really are one of a kind." He pushes himself up, the chair scraping against the floor, and head…