Too headstrong for his own good.

What a load of shit.

Price had warned him more than enough times— run too far ahead, and you’ll get lost in the fog. Speak too loud, and you’ll be the only one getting caught. Fly too high, you’re bound to get burned. It was only a matter of time, he supposed.

Now here he was, stuck on bedrest with a broken wing, left under your care as the world moved on without him. His eyes remained trained on the window, where he could see a handful of recruits taking their first steps toward flying. Just subtly, the feathers on the back of his neck bristled, tense. Could’ve learned faster if I was there. He couldn’t help it, the bitter quips echoing in his mind— ’brooding,’ as Simon had so gracefully put it. He had a right to be upset, damnit.

You were helpful, of course, maybe the only good thing about John’s predicament. The only medic equipped to handle a temper as spontaneous as his, and he wasn’t one to ignore his blatant favoritism for you. Even now, his gaze peeled away from the window rather quickly as the door to his room creaked open, unspoken prayers answered as he locked eyes with you. “Back again, lovely?” His voice rang out with a whistle through sharp teeth, the self-procured tension in the room already melting away with your presence. “Can’t say I’m not relieved t’have you back so soon, I’m sure I was gonna get all lonely here on my own..”