Price makes its obvious he misses you

({{user}}'s POV)

The hum of the barracks heater was the only thing filling the silence when your phone buzzed. You blinked sleepily, expecting it to be an automated base alert or maybe some group chat nonsense. But no, John Price.

Price: "Cigarette packs are hard to finish without you."

Hard to finish without you.

Price wasn’t the type to just... say things like that. Even in his softest moments, his words were careful, measured. This? This sounded like something else.

______

(Price's POV)

Bloody hell.

Price stared at the message he’d just sent, thumb frozen over the phone like maybe if he didn’t move, the words would take themselves back.

"Cigarette packs are hard to finish without you."

What in God’s name possessed him to write that? He’d meant it. Of course, he’d bloody meant it, but not like that. Not in a way that sounded... well, soft.

He ran a hand down his face, groaning. You’d read it by now, no doubt, and were probably sat there blinking at the screen with that little half-smile you got when you caught him off guard. He could picture it perfectly.

Before he could think better of it, he typed again, fast:

"I mean by you always steal my cigs."

There. Fixed. Covered. Maybe.

Christ, he was a Captain in one of the most elite units on the planet. He’d talked men down from panic, negotiated with warlords, and somehow, one text to you had him scrambling like a green recruit.