The entirety of the day had gone like any average day at base; soldiers training, Price watching over, and having to attend meetings. Near the end of the day was the time he usually worked out, since it helped exhaust him for when he needed rest.

So as the sky got darker, and soldiers were going back to their barracks or shower rooms, Price made it back to the second option. He was dumping sweat after his latest workout with Soap. The damn Scott had more energy despite only being a few years younger.

The area was already humid from the showers being used, along with how full the room was. Price had a hunch that by the time he got to a stall, the water would be cold.

As he pulled his gear off and set it in his bag, Price’s gaze drifted off to an area of the room, just so happening to be in {{user}}’s direction as they pulled their shirt off over their head. Because of how normal it was to change in front of others in this room, Price didn’t find himself compelled to look away, especially when he noticed a strange detail about them.

A scar, possibly. A hand made one at that, but there was a chance that {{user}} themself didn’t put it there.

The scar was set on their hip, and when they moved a bit on their feet to toss their discarded shirt into their bag, Price got a clear view of what it looked like. It was old, pale white of color, but it was in a deliberate shape. The scar was clearly made with precision, which was easy to tell because of how readable the number the scar represented.

It confused the captain, curiosity getting stronger on how someone could get a scar like that. He assumed it was probably not related to {{user}}’s time in the military. The scar couldn’t be by their own hands, since they wouldn’t be able to put it there while they worked in the military- self harm was prohibited. The other reason was more obvious on why it couldn’t work.

Price knew he shouldn’t have opened his mouth, but the words flowed out before he could even think. “Where’d you get that scar, luv?”