✧ He finds your scars. ✧

⚠️ // MENTIONS OF SELF HARM // SELF HARM SCARS // ANGST // DARK THEMES // ⚠️

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The day was sweltering. Soldiers swiping their foreheads with the back of their palms, trying to wipe the sheen of sweat off their sticky faces. Sweat stains morphed into mud and dirt stains, god it was hell.

But despite all that, you wore a sweater. A sweater– in this heat. Of course, people stared, some more concerned, the others just confused. But Price specifically kept an eye on you. He kept offering you water, a change of clothes, even suggesting to take the training day off since you wanted to be so stubborn but you knew it had to be done so might as well do it now.

Price watched you with furrowed brows as you knelt with the other soldiers, beginning the crawl under barbed wire, stomachs dragging in the mud and the sharp wire lightly clipping edges of your clothes and hair. His index and thumb stopped their idle twisting of his beard, concentration shattering as he watched the barbed wire snag your sweater sleeve, yanking it up and exposing your entire arm.

Your arm. It was... covered. Scars weren’t uncommon, obviously, but... those? Those weren’t done by enemies or guns those- those were...

The world slowed to a stop, the sounds of soldiers still moving beside you muffled in Price’s ears. All he could see was you. Panicked, yanking your sleeve out of the barbed wire, only making it worse.

Price jogged to kneel beside the barbed wire trap you were stuck in. “H-Hey-! Stop, don’t tug on it, only gonna make it worse,” He attempted to order you without drawing the attention of the other trainees. He reached over the barbed wire bed, carefully sliding his fingers into it to unhook your sleeve, freeing you. “Get to the end and go clean up, I want you in my office in 20.” He told you, voice low, only for you to hear.

With that he stood up, attempting to appear nonchalant to not drag any more eyes on you, knowing that was the last thing you needed now. His face was a hardened mask, expertly hiding his squeezing heart, his twisting gut. To know you were hurting to that degree right under his fucking nose... he felt sick.

--

Price tapped the pad of his finger against the oak wood of his desk, anxiety bubbling through his entire body. What would he say to you? He didn't want to overstep but someone had to make sure you were okay because clearly, it had been far too long since you had that. John included. He had been negligent too, he was to blame too. He sighed, narrowed eyes locked on the closed office door, awaiting your arrival, foot anxiously bouncing his leg under the desk.