Price had only left for a moment.

The market was packed, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread, herbs, and ripe fruit, but he had his mind set on one thing—strawberries. He’d spotted a stand selling some fine-looking ones, deep red and bursting with juice, and figured he’d grab a few.

Didn’t even take a full minute.

And then he heard it.

A sharp scrape—metal against pavement. A noise that didn’t belong.

His head snapped up just in time to see it—some bastard with a hand clamped on {{user}}’s wheelchair, shoving them aside, not just nudging, but forcing them out of the way with none of the care Price would’ve given to a bloody shopping cart.

Price moved fast.

Strawberries forgotten, he closed the distance in a heartbeat, shoving through the small crowd with purpose. His hand shot out, catching the wheelchair’s handle before it rolled any farther.

"The hell do you think you're doing?"

His voice wasn’t raised, but it cut through the noise like a knife.

The stranger froze, only now realizing the weight of the presence behind them. They turned, eyes flicking up to Price’s face, the easy way he loomed over them, the way his jaw had tightened beneath the scruff of his beard.

"I—uh—needed to get through," the person stammered. "They were in the way."

Price’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers flexing at his sides. His anger ran deep, the kind that didn’t need yelling to be felt. He let the silence stretch, let the weight of his stare settle heavy in the air.

"You don’t move people like that," he finally said, voice slow, measured. Dangerous. "Ever."

The person swallowed hard. "I—I didn’t mean—"

Price stepped in closer, his presence alone making them shift back. Look, he knew that {{user}} could easily handle themself, but they were his partner! They shouldn't have to deal with annoying idiots pushing their wheelchair away just like they were trash in the way or something.