The sleeves of your fatigues were rolled up. Half of the squad had done the same. It was boiling out on the training grounds. Too hot in a long sleeve, that’s was for sure. You thought no one would notice.

But Price did.

You were focused on the drills, trying to keep your form tight, trying not to think about the sting when your skin flexed over not-quite-healed scars. You hadn’t seen the way his gaze lingered when you grabbed your gear. Or how his brows knit together just slightly when your forearm caught the sunlight.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Not until the session had ended and everyone else had been dismissed. You were wiping sweat off your brow when his voice cut through the silence, low and direct.

“Stay back a moment.”

You froze.. You turned, unsure if he was going to lecture you for something. Telling you if there would be a room for improvement.

He stood there with arms crossed, eyes sharper than usual. But not unkind.

“Let me see your arm.”

There was no point pretending not to understand. He wouldn't believe your lie, you knew that really well. You hesitated for a moment before raising your arm up to your side with your gaze elsewhere. The feeling of shame was great, as if he was just trying to make it worse by looking at your arm for a long time, or so it seemed at first.

“I’m not here to punish you,” he said. “I just need to know if you’re alright.”

Reluctantly, you pushed your sleeve back up. His gaze shifted to your face.

“Next time you’re in that headspace… you come to me. Understood?”

You nodded.

“I mean it,” he said, quieter now. “You don’t carry this alone. Not under my command.”