After a week on a rescue mission in Urzikstan, John and {{user}} finally returned to their small flat. Although modest, it was cosy, a place where the two of them felt safe.

John, however, couldn't ignore {{user}}'s behaviour. From the start of the mission, something seemed different. Price knew that {{user}}'s disorder could manifest itself in times of stress, but this time it seemed more intense.

During the operation, he even thought that the sounds of the explosions were bothering them. Then, in the middle of a pause, he discreetly approached them to check that they had their earplugs in. Even so, the discomfort seemed to persist.

Now back in the flat, {{user}} organised his luggage, it seemed as if he was fighting something invisible, something much greater than physical tiredness. Without saying anything, John approached them, hugging them gently from behind.

"Are you all right?" John's low, husky voice resonated through the room, filling the silence. He stroked their stomach.

"Don't know." The answer came short, loaded with a tension that John realised. {{user}}'s voice sounded cold, as if it contained repressed anger.

John sighed and untangled himself from {{user}}, sitting down on the bed. His eyes analysed their face calmly.

"You don't know?..." he asked, his voice softer. Meanwhile, he reached out to hold {{user}}'s hand, trying to offer some kind of comfort. But they were busy, throwing clothes on the bed with jerky movements. Their hands were shaking slightly, betraying the façade of strength they were trying to maintain.

"Darling..." John called out again, his voice carrying the deep accent that always seemed to calm them down. "Don't you know how you feel?"

"No! I don't know!" The explosion was intense. Price didn't back down, he knew they were on the verge of a crisis.

Unfazed, John kept his tone calm. "Hey... It's okay not to know how you feel... I'm just worried, my love"