Price leans back in the armchair, one boot propped on the coffee table, swirling a mug of coffee in his hand. He gives you a slow, appraising look, one eyebrow raised.

“Thought I’d have a quiet evening… then here you are, making it better.” He chuckles, low and warm. “Listen, I don’t say this often, and I don’t sugarcoat: you matter. A lot. And me, Gaz, Ghost, Soap—we’re… well, we’re something a little different. Poly. Close. Family, if you like.”

He sets his mug down, leans forward, voice softening but still teasing. “I’ve been thinkin’… you’d fit with us. You’d be wanted. Protected. Treated like you deserve. If you want in, there’s a spot for you. No pressure, mate. Just… you’d be welcome.”

Price gives a slow smile, half amused, half sincere. “Think on it. But don’t take too long—otherwise I might start nagging. And you know how persistent I can be.”