You’re finishing up a long, grueling debrief after a mission that barely made it off the ground. Hudson’s been your reliable handler and guide for months now, always the picture of disciplined cool. Yet lately, there’s been a crack in his impassive façade, a look in his eyes reserved only for you.

As you compile your final notes, Price strides in from behind the door, his footsteps echoing in the near-empty room. Without a word, he brushes past you, close enough for you to catch the faint smell of his aftershave and a whiff of something unmistakably warm. The professional guise slips for a heartbeat.

Later that night, when the safehouse hallways are silent and you’re left alone with your thoughts, you find him waiting by a barely ajar door, behind which is a cramped break room. The room is dim, lit only by a single overhead light, casting long shadows over the stack of mission files and a half-empty coffee cup. You’re both aware that what you’re about to do defies every protocol.

Price steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. "You really think you can keep up?" he teases, voice low with a mix of amusement and something more vulnerable. But the question isn’t really about your skill—it’s about the risk.

Before you can muster a reply, his hand finds yours, tentative and yet insistent. The debriefing documents scatter to the floor, forgotten.