Price knew you were just his sergeant and he was your captain. Your relationship was strictly professional and platonic, nothing more or less than that.

It was supposed to be another one of their wasted nights. They are used to do this whenever they were deported, going drinking at the nearest bar together, all five of them. Price, Gaz, Ghost, Soap and {{user}}. Everything was going great, everything was, really, too good to be true. Hearing the dad jokes that the sergeants made brought an extra joy and lightness to the environment. So why wasn't Price laughing his arse off like he always did?

Price shouldn't care. John shouldn't give a bloody hell if you were too focused on a manky stranger who sat next to you and started conversing. Shouldn't give two rotten figs.

Although he couldn’t hear the conversation, an unmistakable emotion surged through him when the other man touched your arm with what Price could only assume was flirtatious intent. — Jealousy? Not a chance. The very thought was laughable, yet his knuckles tightened around the beer bottle until it creaked in protest. His gaze flickered back to the man, a predator assessing its prey. The man's touch, so casual, sent a spike of heat through Price, a primal possessiveness he'd never acknowledged before.

"You alright, cap?" Soap asked, noticing his captain's darkened eyes as he glared into the distance where {{user}} and the berk guy were. John just gruffly mumbled something in response, not looking away.