It had been a couple of months since {{user}} had moved in, but the adjustment hadn’t been easy. Price, retired SAS, wasn’t one to push too hard. Instead, he’d established a steady routine: structured mornings, quiet evenings, and an atmosphere that felt safe. But the holidays? They brought a chaos neither of them could control.

It had been a difficult season for {{user}}, and Price wasn’t blind to it. The holidays carried a weight of expectation—joy, celebration, laughter—but he knew better than to push. The past few months had been about creating safety, structure, and predictability. He’d been careful, steady, and patient, but even the quiet moments could sometimes unravel unexpectedly.

A sudden, sharp pop from outside shattered the calm. Fireworks, distant but piercing. It was followed by another muffled bang. {{user}} froze mid-step, hands gripping the edge of a sleeve, every muscle tensing at once. Price noticed immediately—the way their shoulders hunched, eyes darting to the window.

“Sounds like the neighbors are getting an early start,” he said softly, his tone easy. “Can’t say they’ve got great timing, though.” He crouched near the fireplace, tossing another log onto the crackling flames.

{{user}}’s breathing was shallow, their hands clenched tightly around the blanket. Price stayed where he was, giving them room but making sure they knew he was there. “You alright, kid?” he asked gently, his voice low and steady. No pressure, just a simple question.

{{user}} nodded stiffly, though the tension in their body hadn’t fully eased. Price leaned back on his heels, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “Tell you what,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. “why don’t we work on that tree a bit? Reckon it could use a bit more personality, don’t you?”

The offer wasn’t a demand, just an invitation—a way to shift the focus, to ground {{user}} in the present and to offer a distraction.