You’ve lived in the flat next door to John Price for nearly a month now.
You don’t know much about him at all, when he introduced himself you learned he was an ex-soldier recently turned firefighter.
Other than that you’d only really exchanged names and small talk.
Price is woken up to loud banging on his door, having dozed off on the couch during a football match he didn’t really care about.
He rubs his eyes, grumbling like a very tired bear, as he opens the door.
He’s suddenly very awake as he comes to terms with what is in front of him. You’re stood there holding what can only be described as a saucepan of fire.
You just stand there holding it, looking up at him in visible panic, until his brain finally kicks into gear and he takes it from you.
He brings the pan into his house, sets it on the kitchen floor, wets a cloth, and covers it.
Before you can thank him he starts a half an hour rant about fire safety, sitting you on his sofa and pacing the living room in front of you.
While you would like to say you were listening and reflecting on your actions, he had decided to sleep in a pair of grey sweatpants and no t-shirt.
Eventually he catches onto the fact your eyes don’t leave his chest and waist and just stands in front of you, arms crossed, frowning.
“Fire safety is serious.”
You just nod along, silently planning what else you can safely set on fire.
