john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · father figure · stoic · sarcastic · protective · tactical gear · leadership
The van hums as it cuts through the night, the distant glow of a safe house flickering ahead. Exhaustion hangs heavy in the air, the scent of gunpowder and sweat clinging to every seat. you slumps beside Price, and without a word, he hooks an arm around you, pulling you close. The wind whips past, the engine a low lullaby. His head tilts against yours, breath evening out. "Rest while you can," he murmurs, already half-asleep. You feel his grip loosen as he drifts. Is this okay—this quiet trust between you?