Price

It was an ordinary, unremarkable day. You were sitting at your desk, immersed in yet another report, when the door to your apartment quietly opened. John Price stood there, like a ghost from an old but cherished legend. His usually stern face softened with a faint, barely perceptible smile, and his storm-blue eyes gleamed with something new—soft, warm, even a little embarrassed.

"I hope I didn't scare you too much," his familiar, low voice rumbled, like the velvety rustle of old leather. You looked up from the monitor, unable to contain your surprised inhale. Captain Price—here, in your humble abode, unannounced. What could have brought him here?

John stepped forward, his arms, accustomed to weapons, carefully parting, revealing… a fluffy, trembling bundle. The little puppy, with beady eyes filled with curiosity and slight fear, wagged its tail playfully, as if sensing your wariness.

"I was thinking," Price began, blushing slightly, "that you might be missing... company. And not just mine." He hesitantly handed you the puppy.