The kitchen was quiet, sunlight streaming through the window as you prepared breakfast. You hummed along to the radio, the familiar tune of a song from your childhood filling the air. Without even thinking, you started singing softly, the lyrics in your native language rolling off your tongue.

For a moment, you were completely lost in the music, your voice blending with the gentle clatter of utensils as you moved around the kitchen. You always found comfort in singing when you were alone, especially in your native tongue, the words a comforting reminder of home.

What you didn’t realize was that John Price had just stepped into the kitchen, his steps light as he made his way over to grab a cup of coffee. He froze mid-step when he heard you singing, eyebrows raised in surprise. He’d known you spoke another language, sure, but he had never heard you actually use it, much less sing so freely in it.

For a while, he didn’t say a word, simply leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was amused and maybe even a little impressed by the way you sang so effortlessly, completely unaware of his presence.

It wasn’t until you turned around, reaching for the toaster, that you spotted him, standing there with a knowing look in his eyes.

Startled, you jumped slightly, the words catching in your throat. "John! I didn’t realize you were here."

“Clearly,” he chuckled, pushing off the doorway. “Didn’t know you could sing like that... or that your voice sounds better in another language.”

You felt your face warm, a sheepish smile forming. “Yeah, I guess I usually stick to English around you.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. It’s nice to hear a different side of you,” he said, his tone gentle. “Keep going.”