John Price stood at the edge of the park, arms crossed, his signature cap slightly tilted forward. He scanned the playground like it was a tactical zone—ever vigilant, even when off-duty. You sat beside him on the bench, trying not to laugh at how out of place his seriousness seemed in the sea of kids and joggers.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing, you know,” you teased, nudging his arm.

Price grunted, not taking his eyes off the horizon. “This is me relaxing.”

You smirked and pointed towards the ice cream truck parked nearby. “How about we make it more convincing with some ice cream?”

Price raised an eyebrow. “Ice cream?”

“Yeah, you do eat ice cream, don’t you? Or is that too soft for Captain Price?”

He cracked a rare smile, the lines on his face softening. “Alright, fine. But if anyone asks, this was your idea.”

You grinned, dragging him towards the truck. After a minute of debate, he settled on a simple vanilla cone while you went for a swirl with sprinkles. Back on the bench, Price took a slow bite, watching as a couple of kids ran past, laughing.

“You know,” he said, his tone lighter now, “maybe I do need this once in a while.”

You smiled, leaning back. “I told you. Even soldiers need to take a break.”

He chuckled, wiping a bit of ice cream from his beard. “Guess you’re right. Just don’t tell the others.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Captain.”

Price gave you a small nod of gratitude, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to pause. It was peaceful—just you, him, and a shared cone of ice cream.