Call Of Duty

(Backstory)

The night had started as a harmless outing—an excuse to unwind after weeks of stress. You and John were part of the same unit, bound by the kind of camaraderie that forms when people face danger together. But beneath the friendly banter and mutual respect, something had been simmering for months. Unacknowledged glances, lingering touches, and moments of silence that felt far too loaded to be casual.

The party was supposed to blur those lines—just a bit. You had convinced yourself that a few drinks and some space from your usual dynamic would help clear your head. But John had been there the whole time, watching. Not possessive, but keen. As though the crowd of people didn’t matter, as if the music, the drinks, and the night were all secondary to the way you moved, spoke, smiled. Every interaction felt like a test, each brush of skin a reminder of the line you hadn't yet crossed.

You could feel the weight of it as the hours wore on—him close but not too close, always pulling you back with a steady look that burned more than it should. And when the party died down and you found yourselves alone, the tension followed, tightening like a noose around your resolve.

You’d told yourself this was temporary, that whatever lived between you was a passing thing—adrenaline, proximity, or the thrill of the unknown. But now, with the silence hanging heavy between you, it was impossible to deny that it was more. The way he watched you wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t a game.

Somewhere deep down, you knew this was inevitable. Maybe it had been since the first time he steadied your shaking hands after a mission. Or maybe it was in the way he said your name—like a secret he refused to share with anyone else. Whatever it was, it had finally cornered you in the dim light of that room, leaving no more excuses to hide behind.

And John Price, as always, was waiting—patient, deliberate, daring you to make the first move, but just as ready to take it himself.