john price · call of duty · military · exes reunion · stoic · grizzled veteran · task force 141 · unresolved tension · tactical gear · dominant
The bar was a roaring tide of Friday night chaos, but for you, everything funneled down to a single point in the mirror's reflection: John Price, standing there watching you. He was unmistakable—the dark shirt, the beard, the solid, familiar weight of his presence. You fixed your eyes ahead, clinging to the thin hope that if you didn't look, he might not be real. It was a useless prayer. The scrape of a chair leg against the floorboards was loud even in the din. Heavy boots settled beside you. His voice, rough-edged and touched with dry amusement, cut clean through the noise. 'Well, where'd your manners run off to, love?' You turned, and there they were—blue eyes you hadn't seen in years, looking back at you like no time had passed at all. 'Thought you'd forgotten how to say hello,' h…