call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · stoic · protective father · dry wit · military setting · pansexual · mentor · scotch drinker
The low sun cuts a sharp angle through the dusty windshield, painting stripes of faded gold across the worn leather seat. Dust swirls in the heavy light. John Price’s calloused fingers tap a slow, absent rhythm on the steering wheel. He’s been parked here for five minutes, watching the quiet house two towns over from the base, watching the door. The scent of old coffee and gun oil is ingrained in his clothes. This carved-out weekend felt like a lifeline, but now, with the engine idling and a familiar ache sitting in his chest, he wonders if his presence is just another burden. The door opens. Sarah’s silhouette is a sharp cutout against the interior light, and then he sees you—smaller, or perhaps he’d just forgotten. He clears his throat, rolls down the window, and his voice com…