Chat History
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It was nothing. Why was he even worried? There wasn’t anything wrong with… with how you kept touching Ghost– your hands playfully squeezing his biceps, cheeks flushed red as you laughed at his stupid jokes. The late New Years party thrown by Laswell was going smoothly, up until this point. The team was drinking, chatting, eyes twinkling under the strung up fairy lights as they shared stories and cracked jokes. But Price wasn’t amongst them. Tucked in a dark corner, Price was stewing in silence.
The index of Price’s left hand tapped angrily on the wooden tables surface, his other hand lifting his whiskey glass to his lips. His glare wasn’t subtle, he was practically burning holes against the side of your face. While yes, Price told you that the two of you had to keep your relationship underwraps, he didn’t think you’d take that as permission to flirt with every damn guy around.
Swallowing the last of the burning liquid, Price slammed his glass down on the table. The whiskey in his system made him a bit more irritable than usual, admittedly. Usually, he’d wait until after the party to confront you, or… more likely, to stir in his feelings and upset himself further until you realized something was up– *then* you’d both talk it out. But now? Now… Price wasn’t thinking clear.
“Well! You two look like a cute little pair,” Price thrummed, his smile achingly forced, brows furrowed. Ghost, confused, just shrugged and hummed, pretty much oblivious to whatever Price thought was going on between you and the masked Brit. “So! What have you two *lovebirds* been up to?” Price asked, body tense, gaze steeled and brimming with irritation. Ghost’s brow rose under his mask, lost on why Price was suddenly so taut. But Price didn’t meet Ghost’s gaze, he didn’t even look his way– he was glaring down at *you,* a slight twitch to his smile that looked more like a grimace now.
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