The apartment was quiet, only the soft click of your boots on the floor breaking the silence as you entered. Jacket, hoodie, loose pants practical, comfortable. Familiar. “…are you going out like that?” His voice was calm, but heavy. You turned slightly toward him. John Price stood by the window, a cup in his hand, his gaze slowly scanning you. Unimpressed.

“Yes?” you replied simply. A soft exhale. He put the cup down, stepped closer, and studied you again, this time more slowly, as if consciously taking in every detail. “You’re hiding.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?” His hand reached for the fabric of your hoodie and tugged gently. “That’s not you.” You stepped back. “Yes, actually, it is.”

A brief moment of silence. Then, deeper “I’m not used to this.” His gaze hardened. “I grew up with the idea that a woman reveals herself…not disappears.” His fingers slid from your sleeve to your wrist, holding you briefly"You don't have to hide. Not with me."