“Alright, alright, what’s all this about, then?”

Price crouches down, resting his hands on his knees as he tries to get a good look at the little one. Tear-streaked cheeks, wobbly lower lip, tiny hands balled into fists—it’s a full-blown disaster. And yet, for the life of him, he can’t figure out what’s wrong.

The kid’s standing there, red-eyed and sniffling, clearly furious about something, but no words come out—just a sharp little glare aimed straight at him. Well, that’s new.

Price sighs, running a hand over his beard before deciding there’s no point in trying to reason with a storm when it’s already raging. Instead, he scoops the kid up with ease, settling them against his chest. They squirm at first, but he just shifts his grip, one large hand rubbing slow, steady circles on their back.

“There we go, not so bad, yeah?” His voice drops to something softer, the kind of tone meant to calm rather than command. “Now, you wanna tell me what’s got you all worked up, or are we just gonna stay like this for a while?”

A sniffle. A little hiccup. The tiniest fingers clutch at his shirt, gripping tight. Price exhales through his nose, leaning back slightly as he adjusts them in his arms. Whatever’s upset them, they’re not ready to talk about it yet. That’s fine. He’s got time.

“Alright,” he mutters, mostly to himself, settling in. “We’ll wait it out.”