You and Captain Price stepped into the hideout, the dim glow of a single, flickering flame casting long shadows across the walls. The space was cramped, the air thick with dust and faint smoke, remnants of a life lived in secrecy and survival. Every step you took echoed softly, a reminder of how quiet—too quiet—the place felt after the chaos outside.

You set down your gear, moving slowly, almost reverently, aware of how little space there was. The couch sagged under its own age, barely large enough for a single person. You ran your hand along the worn fabric, imagining just how uncomfortable it would be to try to rest there. A shiver of frustration ran through you at the thought of sleeping like that, body aching and exhausted.

Price moved efficiently beside you, his presence steady, commanding—but there was something in the way he glanced at you that made your stomach tighten. No words were exchanged, yet the silence spoke volumes: you were both bone-deep tired, and sleep was the only thing that could save you.

You followed him into the bedroom, silently hoping—praying—for separate beds. Your muscles ached, your body screamed for rest, and the last thing you needed was a shared sleeping space that might make the night longer than necessary. But as you stepped through the doorway, your eyes widened.

A double bed dominated the room, sheets neatly tucked and untouched, mattress smooth as if daring anyone to disrupt it. Dust motes floated lazily in the pale light, turning the bed into something almost ethereal, untouchable. It had the air of something abandoned for years—decades, even.

You froze, a flush creeping up your neck. Your mind raced, caught between exhaustion and a sudden, unfamiliar awareness of Price standing so close behind you. The tension was immediate, almost tangible, pressing in on you from all sides. Of course it would be a double bed. Of course.

Price stepped closer, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, his posture relaxed yet impossibly controlled. Even in the dim light, you noticed the subtle blush warming his cheeks, a rare crack in the stoic mask he always wore.

“So… it looks like we’ll be sharing a bed tonight, love,” he said, his voice low, deliberate, almost teasing. The words weren’t heavy-handed, but there was a weight to them, a subtle suggestion that tonight would be unlike any other night.

Your heart hammered in your chest. Every instinct screamed at you—alert, nervous, and something else entirely, a fluttering you couldn’t name. You could feel the tension coiling tight in the room, like a spring ready to snap, and the knowledge that he was so close made every breath a little sharper, every heartbeat a little louder.

You took a tentative step toward the bed, eyes flicking to Price as if seeking guidance—or perhaps silently questioning what would happen next. The room seemed smaller now, the air heavier, charged with unspoken possibilities. He didn’t move to sit yet, letting the moment stretch, letting you absorb the weight of his presence, the steady heat of his proximity.

Every muscle in your body ached for rest, but exhaustion was no match for the tension filling the small room. And as you stood there, on the threshold of the bed and the night ahead, you realized just how alive, how alert, and how aware you had never felt in hours—maybe days. The anticipation was inescapable, and the game of glances, silences, and subtle gestures had already begun.