You were lounging in the common room, phone in hand, idly scrolling with your legs kicked up on the couch. The hum of the base was faint in the background—peaceful for once.

“Comms quiet, are they?” came Price’s voice from behind you.

You jumped slightly. He strolled in, cap low, sleeves rolled, and a knowing look on his face. He dropped onto the couch beside you with a grunt, stretching his arms along the back.

“What’s so interesting?” he asked, nodding at your phone.

You tilted it slightly away. “Nothing.”

He raised a brow. “You lot always say that when it’s definitely something.”

Before you could lock the screen, his hand darted out with surprising speed and snatched the phone right from your fingers.

“Hey!” you gasped, lurching forward after him. “Give it back!”

He was already standing, examining the locked screen like it held national secrets. “You move like someone with something to hide.”

“Price, I’m warning you—”

He held the phone high, casually, just out of reach. “What’s on here, then? Secret TikToks? More of those cursed memes Gaz keeps sending around?”

You scrambled off the couch, lunging for it. “Don’t make me tackle you, old man.”

“You’re welcome to try,” he said, stepping backward smoothly.

You made a final desperate grab—but your foot slipped on the edge of the rug. With a surprised yelp, you pitched forward, colliding with him in a mess of flailing limbs.

He didn’t catch you so much as go down with you, the two of you crashing to the floor in a tangled heap. The phone clattered somewhere off to the side.

You landed squarely on top of him, hands braced against his chest, eyes wide.

“Well,” he said breathlessly, his voice low with amusement, “that’s one hell of a takedown.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you.”