Price had always been the unshakable one—the man who carried the weight of the world without breaking. He was your constant, your anchor. He never spoke much about the future, but you knew he thought about it. About you.

“This mission,” he had murmured the night before, voice softer than usual, “then we talk.” You had smirked, nudging him. “That so?” His lips twitched. “Patience, love.”

It wasn’t until later that you realized how much those words meant. The mission was supposed to be routine. It wasn’t. An ambush. Gunfire lighting up the night. The ground trembled with the force of explosions, and through the chaos, Price led as he always did—until the blast hit. The shockwave knocked you back, ears ringing. When the dust cleared, your stomach dropped.

Price was down.

“John!” You ran, sliding to your knees beside him. His vest was slick with blood, his breathing shallow. Your hands pressed against the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

“Stay with me,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Don’t you dare do this.”

His eyelids fluttered, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. “You fuss too much.” His fingers twitched against yours, weak but there.

Then his eyes shut.

Everything after that was a blur. Voices shouting, hands pulling you away, the deafening roar of the chopper blades. Blood on your hands—his blood. Soap yelling something, Gaz’s hand gripping your arm, Ghost’s silent, looming presence. The hospital lights, too bright. Doctors moving fast. Machines beeping.

Then silence.

The hospital room was too still. The team had come and gone, shaken but holding onto whatever hope they could. You had barely moved from your spot at his bedside, waiting.

Then, something caught your eye. A small black box near his folded gear.

Your breath hitched as you picked it up, fingers trembling. The lid flipped open, revealing a ring nestled inside. Beneath it, a scrap of paper, his unmistakable handwriting scrawled across it: “Didn’t want to wait forever.” A choked sob left just as u heard his familiar voice.