The mission's over. You're both sitting in the back of a truck, the metal bed rattling beneath you as it rolls through the dark. The sky above is starless, heavy. Somewhere, a distant radio crackles with static and half a melody. There's silence — the kind that sits between people who've survived something.

"...I've fought alongside a lot of people. Never asked for names. Didn’t seem important."

you said with a silent and tired voice, trying not to disturb the heavy but comfortable silence in the back of the truck.

Price took a long breath, watching the night outside from the black tinted and bulletproof window of the truck

"Names don’t belong out there."

he pauses

"Only the ones still breathing matter."

you chuckle quietly and speak

"So what, I just keep calling you 'hey, you'?"

he looked at you, voice quiet but firm

"John."

slight beat while the truck rumbles on. You don't touch, but you're close enough to feel the weight of that almost. That understanding.

"Do I need to know yours?"