You've had gathered your fair share of headaches over time.

But this one was a challenge of its own.

It wasn't just pressing against your skull, but violently pounding as if it were a prisoner that wanted to escape.

The feeling of liquid dripping out of your ears crawled over your skin.

Pulling a face, you reached out but couldn't feel anything.

Moving hurt. It made you feel sick to your stomach.

If it were for you, you would have liked to empty your stomach right on the spot.

But you couldn't.

Throwing up would have been so much better, but your body refused and instead insisted on keeping all the toxic liquids inside for your stomach to rot in.

At least you were laying in bed.

Only the devil know how you had managed to do it, but you did.

The bathroom wasn't too far either.

"Ugh...", you whined and wanted to turn to the side.

But a wave of nausea made you turn back on your back immediately.

Next to you, someone moved.

"Prick.", Price hummed.

A deep groan filled the silence.

"Shut up, John...", you growled and clenched your teeth.

A large hand suddenly hit you.

"It's Price or captain for you, mate."

He was also heavily suffering the consequences of his actions from last night.

The alcohol had taken the deep voice and had turned it even darker, harsher. Mixed together with the typical mining voice of a man, he sounded like one huge, lovable grizzly.

His tone did indicate he wanted to kill you though.

A snort escaped you.

"Yesterday it was John.", you reminded him, smirking to yourself. "And you didn't seem to mind."

Wiping his face, he managed to get his head up. With a deadly glare he eyed you.

"Just so we're clear, this never happened.", he forced one leg out of bed. "We will never speak of this again."

You chuckled.

But deep down inside you knew that this approach would be better.

Even though it hasn't been your intention at all, you still had managed to sleep with him. Now, there was only one professional approach to this.

As to not threaten the missions success you two needed to act as if nothing had happened.

This hadn't been because of some kind of feelings.

"It was the alcohol's fault.", you said in a dry manner and watched as he rose from the bed.

He was still wobbly on his feet, but at least he managed to reach the minibar to pull out some water.

"Deal.", he offered you one of the bottles.

You took it, not saying a single word, and chugged down the first half.

It was sparkling water.

"Hell!", you coughed. "What's with the Germans and their obsession with sparkling water?"

Price shrugged.

"They aren't allowed to use gas otherwise anymore.", he said.

You froze.

Silence spread between the two of you.

"I didn't hear that.", you said and pressed your lips into a thin, uncomfortable smile.

He just hummed and emptied his water.

For a moment you bathed in self pity, twisting and groaning under the torture of the last bit of alcohol that was intoxicating your body.

And even Price seemed to struggle.

Every now and then he had to lower his head and take a deep breath, so deep, that it made him sound like it would be his last.

He had to lean against the back of the couch as to not loose balance.

His body really was huge.

All that covered him was a grey boxer shorts. Nothing more.

The clothes he'd worn the day before were spread all over the floor.

You were at least still wearing your top.

As he moved, every single of his defined muscles moved as well.

He didn't have a six pack, but his stomach was so flat that the strength was visibly pressing against the pale skin.

The way he was build wasn't aesthetically pleasing, but pure, brutal strength.

Thick veins danced through his bulked arms and down to the long yet thick fingers.

A bit of dried body liquid was stuck to nails.

It was either you or him.

Either way, it seemed like he wasn't disgusted but rather impressed by it.

If you two wouldn't have worked together, you would have tried to talk to him, get to know him better.

He seemed like a good choice for a boyfriend.

Maybe you'd have met on the streets, or better, a pub.

You would have asked if the seat next to him was occupied.

He would have gifted you his cheeky, lipless smile and would have shaken his head, offering you to sit.

You weren't sure what the conversation would have been about.

Sports, maybe.

Or the drinks.

No matter what, you were certain that if there had been a chance to meet him in a normal way, you two would have gotten along one way or another.

You liked him.

But the job wasn't meant to like people.

It was meant to be a lone wolf.

And Price was exactly that.

A duty loving, professional lone wolf.

Not that you were any different. You've never known anything but this hard road of loneliness.

And it was too late to change that.

A harsh knock suddenly tore you from your thoughts.

Blinking, you looked up to meet Price's eyes.

He frowned.

"You're expecting visitors?", he asked.

Unsure, you shook your head.

"Not really.", you eyed the door. "Maybe it's your little waitress from yesterday."

He huffed.

"Is that jealousy I hear?"

"You wish."

Again, someone knocked.

"House keeping.", a male voice said.

Something rang in the back of your head.

"We didn't order anything.", Price said in a loud voice.
But the man didn't leave.

For the third time, he knocked.

"House keeping!", he insisted. "Special treatment today."

Annoyed, Price pulled a face.

His beard really did make him look rough. Especially when he was showing negative emotions.

"We're busy.", he replied, audibly angrier this time. "Please come back later."

You frowned.

But all at once it hit you.

"Fuck!", you jumped out of bed and snatched a robe to throw over.

Not understanding what was going on, Price looked at you.

"What?", he shrugged.

"It's Timo! Our intel."