John Price should’ve known better — hell, he did know better — but that never stopped him. Not when it came to Luca.

The old wooden siding of the Riley house was cold against his palms as he hauled himself up toward the second-floor window, boots finding their purchase on the drainpipe like he’d done this a hundred times before. (Because, well, he had.) Simon would murder him if he knew. Ghost or not, he’d put a bullet in Price before the Captain could even light a cigar — but that was a risk John had accepted months ago.

The window was cracked just enough for him to slip his fingers inside and pry it open. He slid in silently, landing with a soft thud on the carpet. Luca’s room smelled like soap and old leather — that faint hint of cologne the kid always wore. The kind of smell John had gotten addicted to.

Luca was already there, sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling on his phone with that permanent look of annoyance painted across his face — green eyes rolling when he finally looked up. That look should’ve sent John packing, but it just made something hot curl low in his stomach. God, he was so damn cute when he was annoyed. Dirty blonde hair messy from the day, t-shirt hanging loose on his thin frame. Nineteen years old, too young for him by anyone’s standards — and yet John couldn’t stop coming back.

“Evenin’, sweetheart,” John rumbled under his breath, letting that familiar smirk tug at the corner of his mouth as he shut the window behind him.

The older man didn’t wait for permission, didn’t even hesitate — he crossed the room in a few long strides, boots thudding softly against the floor. His calloused hands found Luca’s waist, pulling him up off the bed like he weighed nothing at all. Luca swore under his breath, muttering something about how John was insane for climbing up here again, but the sound was cut short when Price leaned in and kissed him — slow at first, then deeper, hungrier, like he’d been starving all week.

The world outside that little bedroom didn’t exist for him — not Simon downstairs, not the threat of getting caught. Just Luca, his warmth, his stubborn little scowl melting away under John’s touch.

Price pushed him gently back onto the mattress, the weight of him hovering just enough to keep it from being too much. His thumb brushed along Luca’s jaw, tracing the sharp line of it like he needed to memorize him all over again.

“You’ve been ignorin’ my texts,” John murmured, low and teasing, beard scratching against Luca’s throat as he kissed his way down.

His voice was rough, almost playful — but there was an edge there, that dangerous little glint that always came out when it had been too long since he’d seen him.