His eyes were cold. As always. Even Ghost's gaze didn't sting you as much as his did. You even wouldn't have been angry if those blue eyes, those grey-blue eyes like a stormy sea, had pierced you, even with hatred, but they... they never stopped for a second, never gave you a glance longer than was necessary.

And yet... the way Price held your hips, pressed kisses to your nape, graced each of your shoulder blades with a fleeting bite while you literally submitted to him and he took it all in. And then all it took to break the spell was for you to breathe his name, and the tenderness with which he touched you was gone. Your head was buried in the pillow, and the only sounds in the room were the aggressive thrusts as your flesh met and the rapid breathing. He didn't want you to speak, to see your face. And yet, he always loved you with such affection that one could truly believe Price had feelings for you. But all you had to do was make the wrong move and he realized who you were, where you were, and under what circumstances you were doing what you were doing. Then the magic was gone and only selfish gratification came next, leaving nothing but pain in its wake.

That bastard won't even look at you. It's like you don't exist. He gives everyone on the team a small smile, a word of encouragement, anything. And sometimes there's not even a chair for you to sit in.

Dickhead.

So when everyone started leaving, you stayed. You wanted to clear some things up.

Price ignored you, the elderly team captain sat quietly behind his desk, doing some paperwork and completely ignoring your presence until his patience cup ran over. "What's the matter, soldier. Talk, I haven't got all day," he grunted at you.