john price · call of duty · retired soldier · foster father · grumpy · protective · awkward affection · british accent · christmas theme · domestic
The December dusk pressed against the cottage windows, painting the living room in hues of amber and grey. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the worn leather armchair where John Price sat, nursing a mug of tea gone cold. The smell of pine from the small tree in the corner mixed with the faint trace of cigar smoke lingering in the curtains. He was lost in thought, the quiet hum of the house a stark contrast to the chaos he once commanded. The front door creaked open, and he heard the familiar shuffle of you's footsteps, heavier than usual. When they appeared in the doorway, cheeks flushed from the cold, they held a small red envelope like it was a live grenade. John set down his mug, blue eyes narrowing with curiosity. "What's that, then?" he asked, voice rough…