#rei scribbles

at least he had been gracious enough to thank you whenever you were being openly helpful, so it wasn't like he had it out for you or anything.

thus, you decided to move forward with your head held high and a mission to prioritise yourself for once.

the conversation with soap was almost like a revelation to price. after he told the sergeant that you were 'just admin', soap gave him a look of disbelief.

"what d'ya mean, cap?" the scot asked, his eyebrows furrowed. "you cannae say that. they're doing so much for the team and most of all you."

price looked slightly taken aback at his words and set down his pen on the desk. "me?"

"aye, you," soap confirmed with a firm nod. "you're the one they always prioritise when we ask them for help. they organise your mission files every day. that heart drawn on the drinks they bring every other morning? only yours, last time i checked."

"bloody hell..." price muttered, gradually recalling every small interaction he had with you the past few months. "i just thought they were doing their job."

"who else did you think kept your cigars and favourite tea restocked?" soap continued. "they're the one doing practically everything around here. you must be daft not to notice them half in love with you this whole time."

the captain briefly rubbed his face, still taking it all in. they fancy me? how? when?

"why the hell didn't you say anything sooner?" price groaned, kicking himself for overlooking your efforts.

"wasn't my place," soap replied with a slight shrug. "thought you knew."

by the time soap left the room, price was lost in his thoughts. regret gnawed at his conscience—he hoped he hadn't been too dismissive of you this entire time.

doesn't matter, he convinced himself. he'd show you his proper appreciation the next time you did something. so he waited for the right opportunity to speak to you about it.

little did he know that the chance would never come.

price sat at his desk, eyes flicking to the clock for the third time in fifteen minutes. the usual cup of perfectly brewed tea or coffee hadn't arrived that morning.

his brows furrowed as he went through disorganised mission reports, searching for the missing post-it notes that carried your helpful annotations.

strange, he thought as his fingers drummed against the surface of his desk. he had planned to acknowledge your efforts properly today. perhaps even invite you for a drink off-base.

but his door remained closed. no soft knocking that announced your arrival with neatly sorted intelligence briefs, nor the subtle re-organisation of his cluttered workspace when he stepped out for meetings.

nothing.

by afternoon, price found himself in the break room, standing before the coffee machine with uncharacteristic hesitation written on his face. it wasn't like he didn't know how to use the device, but there was a distinct difference in the taste of the coffee you made him compared to the ones he prepared himself.

which setting did they always use? ...did they even use the coffee machine at all?

the realisation that he'd never bothered to find out affected him more than expected.

today was just going all sorts of sideways for price. his inbox was filled with administrative queries that you usually filtered and his schedule became a jumbled mess without your quiet interventions. now he was having trouble making his damn coffee. the absence of the small comforts he had taken for granted left a strange emptiness he couldn't quite name.

where are they anyway? it's like they... disappeared all of a sudden.

"looking for something, sir?" ghost asked, silently walking up to the captain in the fashion of his moniker.

price startled slightly, not used to being caught off-guard. "just trying to figure out this bloody thing," he mumbled, jabbing buttons in growing frustration.

the coffee machine whirred to life and soon aromatic liquid began to drip into the mug waiting beneath the spout. ghost let out a grunt in reply, before pointing out that he thought it was you who usually handled something like this for him.

the sound of your name made price's jaw tighten. "yeah, well, seems they're occupied elsewhere today."

ghost leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. "funny thing about people. sometimes they stop giving when they realise no one notices."

that jab made price shoot him a sharp look. "something you want to say, lieutenant?"

"just that i've seen them pass by your office three times today. didn't stop once," ghost shrugged before pushing off the counter. "usually they never pass up on the opportunity to visit you."

fuck.

you realised that work became a lot less hectic when you stopped picking up the little tasks that made price's life more convenient. no longer did you screen his calls for bureaucratic nonsense, nor did you polish his medals before higher-ups came to visit anymore.

those useless things were never part of your contract anyway. paperwork was your main job and you should've stuck to just that.

you were in the middle of editing price's report that was just a tad too blunt for command's liking when you decided you needed a break from your screen. usually, you'd use the free time to run little errands for price, but now you actually have a moment to spare for anything else.

so you found yourself on your way to gaz's office to invite him for a coffee break together. by the time you walked through his doorway, the sergeant was looking a little miserable from sitting at his desk for so long. you remembered him mention before that he'd much rather be on the field than in an office.

"hey, gaz," you said as you walked up to his desk. he replied with a warm smile and a greeting of his own.

"looks like you could use a break. care to join me?"

"that sounds lovely, actually," gaz said, beginning to stand up. the hint of relief in his eyes was not lost on you. "been at it for four hours. think i would've gone mad if you didn't ask."

the two of you headed out into the hallway and walked towards the break room.

"you know, you're allowed to take a short break if it's been four hours," you reminded the sergeant.

gaz shrugged a little in reply. "i know. it's just... it doesn't feel right to stop working if you haven't exactly reached your productivity goal yet."

you knew that feeling all too well, so you didn't add on it. seemed like you and gaz had a bit more in common than what was on the surface.

arriving at the break room, you two made some coffee. there were a few other people there, so you both sat down at the table near the quiet corner of the room.

you stirred your caffeinated drink rather absentmindedly, watching as the creamer swirled into a caramel colour. it didn't take long for you two to fall into easy conversation.

"...so then the bloody idiot tries to convince me he's qualified for demolitions because he blew up his mum's microwave once," gaz recounted, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

a genuine laugh escaped your lips. it's been a while, you realised. "god, the recruits get more creative with their CVs every year."

"speaking of creative," gaz leaned forward, voice softening slightly. "what's with the sudden invitation? not that i'm complaining about decent company during break, but you're usually—"

"running price's errands?" you finished, smile faltering a little. with a sigh, you traced the rim of your mug with your thumb, avoiding gaz's perceptive gaze. "thought i'd spend time with people who actually see me."

gaz's eyebrows shot up. "trouble in paradise?"

his words made you grimace a little.

"there was never a paradise to begin with," you sighed with a shake of your head. "just realized i've been deluding myself."

you took a sip of your coffee, savouring the bitter aftertaste. "you know how many hours i spent reorganizing his mission files last month? seventeen. seventeen hours of my life i'll never get back and he didn't even notice."

gaz leaned back in his chair, studying you with newfound interest. "price isn't exactly the... appreciative type. man's got the emotional range of a brick wall. he kind of has to, i mean."

"i don't need a parade," you countered, fingers tightening around your mug. "just... acknowledgment that i exist beyond fetching his damn tea."

"fair enough," gaz nodded rather solemnly, before breaking into a playful grin. "though i must say, your coffee-making skills are exceptional. perhaps not entirely wasted talents."

groaning, you rolled your eyes in mock annoyance. but you felt the tension in your shoulders ease slightly. "careful, or i'll start bringing you biscuits and cupcakes too, and then where will your training regimen be?"

"worth the sacrifice," gaz declared dramatically, patting his stomach. your laughter mingled in the break room, transforming it momentarily into something warmer.

meanwhile, price stood before your empty desk, a frown of confusion creasing his brow. your computer was logged off, desk unusually tidy without the typical scatter of files you juggled for him and the boys.

the absence felt strangely wrong.

price checked his watch—14:47. from what he knew, you never took breaks this late in the afternoon.

a corporal who passed by with an armful of documents noticed price standing in your empty office and asked if he was looking for you.

the captain nodded curtly.

"try the break room, sir. saw them heading that way with sergeant garrick about ten minutes ago."

price grunted his thanks, an odd sensation settling in his gut as he strode down the corridor. then, the sound of laughter—your laughter—reached him before he rounded the corner. he slowed his pace, suddenly hesitant.

through the doorway, he saw you gesturing animatedly, your face lit up with a smile he suddenly realised he'd missed. gaz leaned forward, completely engaged, chuckling at whatever story you were telling.

"…and then he said, 'that's just you being scottish!'" you delivered the punchline, eyes shining with amusement as gaz tilted his head back in laughter.

price stood frozen in the doorway, struck by how at ease you appeared. have you always looked so enchanting?

your hands moved expressively as you spoke. a loose strand of hair fell over your eyes that you absentmindedly brushed back. it was like seeing a different person entirely.

the conversation halted abruptly when gaz spotted him, the mirth on his face replaced by a relaxed smile. "captain," he acknowledged with a nod.

your laughter died and your posture stiffened as you turned to face price. the warmth in your eyes cooled noticeably, replaced by polite detachment he now realized was a recent development. it made the captain's chest tighten unexplainably.

"sir," you greeted formally, straightening in your seat. "did you need something?"

the question hung in the air, loaded with unspoken meaning. where was the usual warm grin that graced your lips? the way your eyes lit up when you saw him? price cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how rarely he sought you out rather than summoning you to his office.

"just looking for sergeant sanderson's file," he replied, the excuse sounding hollow even to his own ears. "thought you might have it."

"i placed it on your desk when you had that meeting this morning, sir. top right corner, black folder, should be near your coffee mug," you replied with a small smile, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

he didn't have to know that you were trying your hardest not to let your pain show.

"i left a note."

price's jaw tightened. "must have missed it."

an awkward silence ensued, broken only by the soft hum of the vending machine in the corner. gaz glanced between you two, sensing tension in the air.

"well, i should get back to work," the sergeant announced, rising from his seat. he shot you a meaningful look. "thanks for the coffee break. same time tomorrow?"

the smile on your lips turned genuine. "looking forward to it, gaz."

price watched the exchange with an unfamiliar discomfort in his chest, akin to a mix of guilt and envy. as gaz brushed past him with a respectful nod, price gave a stiff one of his own in return. he remained rooted in place though.

"was there anything else, captain?" you asked, already gathering you empty mug and napkin, clearly preparing to leave.

"no," price replied gruffly. three seconds passed and he spoke again, "actually—"

but you had already turned away, washing your mug in the sink swiftly. "if you'll excuse me, i have a video call with laswell in five minutes."

price couldn't find anything else to say as he watched you walk past him with another rigid, polite smile. it made him feel hollow inside and he didn't like it one bit.

the next few weeks were quite grim for price's daily routine.

of course, you maintained impeccable professional standards. reports appeared on his desk on time, meetings were scheduled without conflict and administrative matters ran with clockwork efficiency. yet despite the excellence of your work, the soul had vanished from these interactions.

you made it clear that you were keeping your distance from him. as to what the reason behind that might've been, price was not exactly sure. but he was certain it had something to do with his lack of appreciation in the past somehow.

those coffee shop runs you went on? no more hearts were drawn on his cup. you were no longer there to remind him to take breaks and you kept every interaction with him as brief as possible. the distance you maintained cut deeper than price cared to admit. your demeanour wasn't necessarily cold, but definitely not as warm and bright as it used to be.

you, on the other hand, were keen to move on from your crush on the captain. hell, you never should've had such feelings for your superior in the first place—they only made things messy. you had found unexpected liberation in your new routine.

the hours once spent trying to catch price's attention were now replaced with genuine camaraderie. gaz's fun stories over lunch break and soap's humour during coffee runs—the sergeants saw you. truly saw you, beyond what services you could provide.

"you've got mactavish wrapped around your finger," gaz teased as the three of you walked through the hallway. "man's been singing your praises to the entire base after you salvaged that supply chain disaster."

that crisis from the other day surfaced in your memory as gaz mentioned it. you let out a laugh, a genuine one. "hardly. i just did what i could."

"and a fine damn job you did," soap remarked, giving you a friendly nudge with his elbow. "i was sure price was going to chew our heads off if it went pure sideways."

the scot pursed his lips when he noticed the slight change in your expression at the sound of the captain's name. he had an apology ready on the tip of his tongue, but you beat him to it.

"water under the bridge," you shrugged, determined to maintain your newfound peace.

much to your relief, the conversation then shifted to the fresh batch of recruits. soap lamented their abysmal fitness scores while gesturing dramatically as usual. you were mid-laugh when heavy footsteps approached from the other direction.

price's weathered boots came into your view before you could fully look up. his presence still commanded the hallway, but your heart rate no longer picked up at the sight of the him.

the three of you greeted the captain. he cleared his throat and met your gaze with those gorgeous blue eyes you used to swoon over. perhaps a part of you still did.

"do you have a moment?" price addressed you. "need you to look over some documents regarding another joint operation with the mexican special forces."

your eyes flickered between price and soap, a quick calculation going through your mind. the familiar weight of price's request brought you back to a few months prior when you would happily be at his beck and call just to hear a syllable of his praise. but now, something had shifted.

"i'm sorry, captain. but i already promised to help soap with his training evaluations this afternoon," you replied with an apologetic smile, your voice pleasant yet unmistakably firm. "as i'm just admin, i need to prioritize my workload efficiently. perhaps ghost could assist? he's familiar with the mexican operations, no?"

the words 'just admin' felt pointed, something you did on purpose. it was a subtle call-back that caused price's jaw to clench. you maintained eye contact with him a moment longer than necessary, silently communicating: yes, i heard you that day, and no, things between us wouldn't simply return to normal.

price's stomach twisted.

oh, fuck.

"i can have those documents processed by tomorrow morning at 08:00," you added, already turning back toward soap and gaz who tried not to get caught in the crossfire. "will that timeline work for your operational needs, captain?"

it was nerve-racking at first. though you had a couple years of military administration experience under your belt, being part of a special operations force was new territory. the first few days consisted mostly of polite and frankly awkward exchanges between you and the team (*cough* ghost), but the ice eventually melted.

it started off small: greetings with warm smiles, professional conversations shifting to casual topics, as well as playful jokes. the 141 were an interesting bunch—it wasn't too difficult to grow a connection with them after a couple of weeks.

before you realised it, you found yourself thinking about a certain captain more times in a day than you thought about what to eat for dinner. you noticed the way he looked out for his boys with genuine care, the way he easily commanded an entire room with his sexy deep voice and how he remained level-headed even in the most stressful situations.

not to mention how respectful and friendly he was with you and how he made you feel like you were part of the team.

there was just something about the way he carried himself that made you want to drop everything to please him. call it a desperate thirst for validation and acceptance, but you'd go above and beyond for the man.

you couldn't help it. sometimes you were just loyal to a fault without realising it.

while your main responsibility was to handle paperwork, you went out of your way to do some additional tasks that weren't necessarily written in your contract.

"morning, captain," you greeted him one day as you entered his office with a large paper cup in one hand and a manila folder in the other. "i thought you'd appreciate a fresh brew."

on your way to work, you had stopped by your local coffee shop to pick up some drinks for the boys. you recalled their preferred orders from past conversations and neatly wrote down their names on each respective cup before handing them out at base. the other three had already received their drinks (and thanked you), which only left the captain's.

you set down his cup on the desk in front of him, a cute little heart drawn next to his name. price looked up from his screen and gave you a smile, the one that slightly squished his cheeks and showed his crow's feet. "cheers, love."

that small gesture was enough to make your pulse quicken. you couldn't remember when his simple gratitude suddenly meant the world to you. with a friendly expression on your face, you presented the folder containing some documents.

"and here is the report you asked for yesterday."

you didn't tell him you worked overtime to finish it.

"ah, efficient as always," price noted with a nod of approval. "you can just put it over there. thanks again."

your infatuated mind was so caught up in his praise that you missed the way he immediately turned back to his laptop without much interest as you set the folder down on the desk.

still, you were quite cheerful that day, and coffee shop errands became a regular occurrence afterwards.

of course, in order not to make your crush on price too obvious, you would sometimes get the other boys their caffeinated drinks as well.

the clacking rhythm of the keyboard filled your office space as you diligently worked. your fingers danced nimbly over the plastic keys as strings of words formed on the screen in front of you.

then the sound of your name laced in a familiar scottish brogue pulled you out of your focus.

there soap stood in your open doorway, one hand on his hip while the other held the doorframe.

"sorry, you got a minute? i need your help with something," he said.

"of course," you nodded in reply and gestured for him to take a seat. "what's wrong?"

soap's lips curled into a sheepish smile as he dropped into the chair across from your desk. "i know this is becoming a bit of a habit, but i've been a wee behind on my paperwork again..."

you held back an amused grin at his words, eyeing him knowingly as he continued, "...so i was wondering if you could help—"

a knock was heard, interrupting soap's words. your gaze shifted towards the doorway once more, but this time you were met with the sight of price, stood there with his knuckles still poised against the open door.

"captain," you greeted him, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. "what can i do for you?"

soap didn't miss the way your face lit up at the sight of price and how you unintentionally ignored the scot halfway through his request as price stepped inside the office space.

"is this a bad time?" he asked, glancing at the sergeant who turned his head around to look at the captain too. "mactavish, are you asking them to do clean up after you again? they've already got enough on their plate."

"aye, but i was hoping they wouldn't mind me squeezing in this one favour..."

"and i don't, i promise," you added to assure them both, shaking your head. hearing price acknowledge your workload sent warmth spreading through your chest. he noticed. he actually noticed.

you stood up and walked around your desk to take a few steps towards him to take the attention off poor soap. "how can i help you, sir?"

"need you to look over these deployment schedules," price revealed as he turned his gaze back to you. god, those gorgeous blue eyes. then you noticed the dark circles that shadowed them, evidence of another sleepless night spent planning operations.

your pulse quickened; he trusted you with these things. the chance to be helpful to price and stay in his good graces made your stomach flutter. "of course, captain. right away."

you reached for the manila folder that he handed over, your fingers brushing momentarily. the brief contact sent electricity up your arm, though you didn't notice that price seemed entirely unaffected.

soap's eyebrows shot up as he watched the exchange. this, and your immediate abandonment of his paperwork crisis. putting two and two together, soap got out of his seat and backed away with exaggerated surrender.

"well then," he chuckled. "i should probably get back to work myself."

you gave him an apologetic look, but he merely sent you a silent, teasing wink in return before he left the room. he knew about your little secret.

some more weeks passed. after a mission brief, the team was all gathered in the break room. you were passing by with another stack of mission reports in your hands, your fingers tracing the familiar scrawls of price's annotations on yellow post-it notes. you'd memorised every loop and dot by now and how his signature grew messier after long work days.

without realising it, you had halted by the doorway to watch the boys. soap noticed your presence and warmly invited you to join him and ghost, who were standing near the table while price and gaz made tea by the kitchen counter.

"hard at work, i see," soap remarked with his usual playful grin. you glanced down at the papers in your hands.

"i guess so," you replied with a smile. earlier that day, you had organised price's files by priority, restocked his cigar humidor and ensured his favourite tea was available in the break room. your small gestures went unnoticed, dissolved into the routine of military life.

as if on queue, you spotted price taking the box of said teabags from the cupboard, unaware that you were the one who put it there. his sleeves were rolled up, revealing hairy forearms marked with old scars and new bruises. those strong, muscular arms... you couldn't help but let your mind wander a little.

when price laughed at something gaz said, the sound carried to the other side of the room where you stood, making your heart stutter a little.

"you know," ghost gravelly voice made you jump, "staring won't make him notice faster."

warmth flooded your face. "i wasn't—"

"'course not," he deadpanned, masked face tilted slightly. "just saying, you sure put in a lot of effort for someone who doesn't really see you."

the lieutenant's words struck you like a physical blow. each millisecond that passed carving deeper into wounds you had been ignoring. your grip around the papers tightened, knuckles tensing as reality smacked you across the face. you didn't register the way soap nudged ghost in warning.

you had been running yourself ragged, staying late to help with price's backlog of work, memorising his food and drink preferences, ensuring his paperwork was pristine before it reached his desk, tidying up after him before clocking out that day. all those small acts of devotion with the hope to catch his attention.

yet nothing had changed. price wasn't any more pleasant to you than he was with the boys. your little gestures, at least the ones he noticed, received gratitude... but they were never reciprocated. it felt even more embarrassing when you realised that he didn't owe you any more than that.

only then did it dawn upon you that while you had looked at price with heart-eyes this entire time, he never really spared you a second glance.

even ghost knows... how pathetic am i? you thought to yourself, the notion twisting like a knife. then you shot soap a glare in silent accusation. he must've told ghost about your crush on price—how else would he have known of the things you did for the captain? unless you were just that obvious...

"fuck," you whispered, the profanity slipping out before you could stop it. ghost's observation had ripped away the comfortable delusion you made yourself believe.

"ghost didnae mean it like that," soap tried to soften the blow. but it was too late.

you shook your head, forcing a smile on your face. it looked more strained than anything. "no, he has a point, i... must've looked really stupid, huh?"

"don't say that... you could always try talking to him," the scot offered as he gave you a firm, sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"yeah, maybe."

you didn't get much work done that day, which was unusual since you were always on top of your game. price did not seem to notice that either.

perhaps you were just overthinking things. maybe you needed to change strategies and be more direct. be resilient and never give up halfway, right?

despite ghost's wake-up call, you felt a stubborn ember of hope flicker within you.

or maybe you were doing too much after all—it wouldn't be the first time. growing up, you've realised that sometimes you were loyal to a fault with no regard for your own well-being and individuality.

someone badmouthed your best friend? you were ready to defend them to hell and back, even if it ruined your own reputation. your crush had an issue with a particular someone? that person instantly became your enemy without question, even if it meant burning bridges with those around you.

that behaviour had toned down quite considerably over time, but sometimes you still felt like that kid in middle school who just wanted to be seen and heard.

hell, that used to be the only way you were seen and heard, even if it was just for brief moments.

so you decided to confront price and get it over with. you had rehearsed your confession in your mind a hundred times over by the time that you were making your way towards price's office.

when you arrived, you noticed that the door was ajar. stepping closer, you heard soap's voice from the other side. that was when you realised they were talking about you.

"they're really somethin', that one," the scot sang your praises, perhaps trying to make it up to you after the break room incident. "always on top of things, keeps us all in line. the team's better with them around."

a small smile crept onto your face, finding solace in the fact that your friend genuinely seemed to appreciate your presence in the team.

but price's reply completely shattered your soul.

"they're just admin, mactavish," his gruff voice reached your ears, "good at their job, sure. but let's not get carried away."

the words hit you harder than you thought. just admin. that was all you were to him. the ember of hope died, leaving only bitter ash.

you silently backed away as your eyes began to sting. your chest felt hollow and your limbs heavy. all those gestures, all that effort. they meant nothing to him.

fuck this, you thought. you wanted to laugh, or cry, you didn't know.

it always ended like this; no matter how much devotion you showed, they would never do the same for you. not once were you anyone's first choice. you were convenient and useful until you were no longer needed.

you had stupidly been content playing the devoted shadow, hoping your silent service would somehow translate into something more. but it was time to stop. no more pining for a man who saw you as nothing more than a glorified secretary.

without a sound, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of your infatuation with price.

your fingers trembled slightly as you packed another portafilter with mediocre coffee grounds. the double shift you took yesterday did a number on your muscles.

"large oat milk latte!" you called out, forcing a bit more brightness into your customer service voice. today was not your day and it was only getting started.

the sky was gloomy, as it usually was during the cold winter months. outside, the streets were wet from rain. shallow puddles on the ground splashed beneath people's shoes as they walked by. contrasting the cold hues, the café's warm lights shone from its windows, painting gold onto the damp pavement outside.

when the morning rush passed, you were finally able to breathe. you attempted to mend the broken vanilla syrup pump which was your colleague's doing when the door chime ringing caught your attention. another customer.

you fixed your messy hair and smoothed out the beige apron that you wore over your oversized sweater. a man walked inside the cosy café and you gave him a smile.

"hi, what can i get you?" you asked, keeping your voice warm despite the slight undertone of exhaustion.

you'd never seen this man before, he was definitely not one of the regulars. despite the large volume of customers and seeing new faces every day, there was just something very distinct about this one.

he was big—tall as he was buff. his head, mostly hidden under a grey beanie, showed tufts of blond hair that stuck out. though his face was mostly obscured beneath a black surgical mask, the man owned the most beautiful pair of deep-set brown eyes you'd ever seen. under the café lights, they almost looked like caramel candies.

and yet, they were also the most tired pair of eyes you'd seen all week, like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days. there was just something about them that you likened to yourself, eliciting sympathy from you.

he mumbled his order, his voice rough and kinda hot, with a distinct manchester accent, "black coffee, one sugar. takeaway."

quick and simple.

"of course, coming right up."

you worked with swift hands, movements steady and habitual. your mind was too preoccupied with an internal debate—how can he look so attractive when i can't even see his face?—to notice that his gaze never strayed from you the entire time.

after making the coffee, you handed him his drink and threw in a free cookie. "on the house," you said calmly, before turning your attention to the next customer, who happened to be a regular. you greeted her warmly and soon got started on her usual.

why did i do that? you thought as you worked on making the next drink. you knew you were going to have to pay out of pocket for that, yet you still gave a random guy a free cookie.

perhaps it was those damn eyes or...

you didn't want to think too much about it, so you settled with a simple 'just because' and 'kindness begets kindness' to justify your spontaneous action.

the man paused for a second as he silently accepted the freebie, casting you a final, lingering glance before heading out the door.

the days blurred. your life was mostly made up of lectures, essays, some group projects, and of course, your job at the café. during off-peak hours, when your manager wasn't present, you would be hunched over at the table near the counter, studying in your free time. a packet of your favourite strawberry milk would always accompany you.

you noticed that the man from the other day had started showing up every now and then. a repeat customer was always great for business, so you gave yourself a pat on the back for giving him that cookie (which you assumed was the catalyst).

he always sat in the quiet corner by the window, alone. his order never varied either—black coffee, one sugar.

still, it was nothing out of the ordinary to you. the café gained and lost regulars all the time, and this man was no different. until two months later, when it was the third time this week that the man sat at the café, ordering nothing but his usual.

you moved towards his table. "can i get you anything else, sir?"

he met your gaze directly for the first time that day. "no, thank you."

nodding, you collected his empty cup with a smile.

"you're here a lot," you said, the words slipping out before professionalism could catch it. a warmth crept up your face. "sorry, that was—"

"i am," the man agreed, cutting off your embarrassment. "good place to think."

you nodded, clutching his empty cup and silently hoping you didn't offend him. "well, we appreciate the business."

later that day, your manager scolded you, something about the ice machine not working. you tried so hard to hold back words that might cost you this miserable job.

you were determined not to let a bad day at work ruin the rest of your evening, so you bought a small tub of ice cream on your way home. in your mind, you could already hear your mother's voice scolding you for eating ice cream in the middle of winter, but you didn't care. a sweet treat is a sweet treat.

tugging your hood lower, you picked up your pace as you walked towards your apartment building. it was late and the streets were quiet. luckily there were a handful of other pedestrians in the vicinity to ease your nerves. you were never the biggest fan of walking alone in the dark.

eventually, you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was staring at the back of your head. a glance over your shoulder showed nothing but shadows. how strange.

your hand dug into your pocket and grabbed your keys readily. as you passed the alley near the old laundromat, you could've sworn you saw movement for a split second. tall, broad—there and then gone again.

your building loomed ahead, the familiar cracked steps promising safety. the entrance door was still broken, so you were quickly able to bypass that. but that also meant that whoever was following you could too.

nearly running, you fumbled with the keys when you reached your front door, your fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold. paranoia crawled into your mind and the feeling that someone was out there became impossible to ignore.

finally your lock turned and you darted inside, slamming the door shut behind you before promptly locking it. your heart was racing in your chest and you tried your best to get rid of that uneasiness in your stomach.

silently, you pressed your ear against the door, trying to discern if there was actually someone that followed you home. no footsteps followed. no knock, nor voice. your peephole showed only an empty hallway.

with a sigh, you slowly backed away before taking off your jacket. everything was okay.

what you weren't aware of was the dark figure lingering at the end of the hallway outside your door, eyes fixed on where you had just disappeared into your apartment.

a few days later, it began.

you were still half-asleep with the taste of toothpaste clinging to your tongue, before freezing the second you saw a paper bag on your counter. you didn't remember putting it there and you definitely remembered locking your door last night.

apprehensive, you took a peek inside. there was a loaf of bread, fresh strawberries and the expensive tea you only let yourself buy on payday. there was no receipt and no explanation.

maybe i left it there, you tried to reason with yourself. maybe you bought it and you just forgot. stranger still, when you opened your fridge, you swore there were more things inside than yesterday.

the next week, it happened again. this time, the package was in your bathroom, arranged carefully beside the sink. it was an entire stock of your favourite skincare products that you so frugally used to make them last as long as possible.

that night you slept poorly, waking up every hour with the feeling that your apartment wasn't entirely yours anymore.

by the third time, you stopped trying to make excuses. you came home to find a cardboard box on your bed. inside was a soft blanket, a six-pack of your favourite strawberry milk and a book you'd mentioned wanting in passing to a customer at the café weeks ago.

suddenly, the air in your apartment felt different. every shadow in the corners seemed darker, like it was hiding something, someone. you found yourself checking behind the shower curtain, under the bed, inside the wardrobe.

absolutely nothing. it made you feel like you were slowly going crazy. when you turned off the light that night, the smell of cigarette smoke lingered faintly in the air.

within the same week, you had asked your landlord to change the lock of your apartment, but he didn't grant you permission, so you settled with installing a chain lock to your door.

it had been another long day. your wrists ached from scrubbing tables and your back was sore from standing on your feet for way too long.

rent was late again. you could go on and on about the disproportionate increase of living costs vs. minimum wage, but that wouldn't help the headache you were starting to feel.

by the time you stepped into your apartment, you allowed your mind and body to decompress. you tossed your bag onto the couch, letting out a long, tired sigh.

that's when you saw another brown paper bag sat neatly on your kitchen counter.

you hadn't gone shopping in a while, yet there it was. two fresh persimmons, a carton of eggs, even a loaf of sourdough from the bakery down the road (the one you couldn't afford anymore) and of course, your favourite strawberry milk drink.

the first and second time this had happened, you freaked out. now… you didn't know what to feel. you had reported it to the police the moment it became suspicious, but you were told that "without substantial evidence" they "aren't able to take any action", so you dropped it. cops were unreliable anyways.

in the beginning, you were unsettled and paranoid, as you should be.

but after months of feeling invisible, worn down by bills and loneliness, the thought of someone caring enough to notice what you liked and needed… it was warm and comforting.

besides, with money tight, the gestures seemed almost luxurious considering that you could barely afford most of these things anymore.

so you didn't tell anyone and kept quiet about the situation.

lieutenant simon riley thought he was fucked up in the head from the torture he went through all those years ago. but after the shit that happened with makarov and losing his best friend, he reached new lows.

unable to function properly in the military and therefore becoming 'useless' to the higher-ups, john price recommended an early retirement for him. it took a lot of convincing (and a physical altercation between him and the captain), but simon finally agreed to leave the military for his own good.

then it started with a singular cup of coffee. it was supposed to be a nothing day. just a quick trip to the nearest café for some bean water.

for some reason, simon had chosen to take the long way, with no real destination in mind. the streets were quiet and wet from rain under the pale winter sky. shallow puddles on the ground splashed beneath his boots as he walked.

his civilian life still felt… foreign. there was no hum of comms in his ear, no target to watch, nor the persistent feeling that his life was in imminent danger. this was new, but he was starting to get used to it.

the café he randomly picked was small, wedged between a laundromat and a shop with a flickering neon sign. warm light shone from its windows, bleeding onto the wet pavement. he stepped inside with no reason other than to escape the rain and grab a quick cup of caffeine.

you were stood behind the counter, hair a little messy, wearing a beige apron. there were dark circles under your tired eyes and simon guessed it was from long nights and too many shifts. typical city dweller—you wouldn't be the first overworked person he'd met that day.

yet when you caught his gaze, you smiled. a genuine smile, like you meant it. not the fake, dead-eyed customer service smile he grew accustomed to.

"hi, what can i get you?" you asked. he heard the fatigue in your voice, but still you tried to sound friendly.

"black coffee, one sugar. takeaway," simon muttered without much courtesy.

"of course, coming right up."

his eyes were glued on you as you worked.

after he paid and you handed him his drink, you suddenly added a cookie to his order. "on the house," you said, before another customer stepped forward to the counter.

simon was caught off-guard. people didn't just… give like that. not to strangers, let alone to intimidating men his size with a demeanour that screamed leave me the fuck alone. you just slid the cup across the counter along with the packaged cookie, your fingers brushing his.

something shifted in him. simon told himself it was nothing, that he'd forget you the second he stepped outside.

but that night, lying in bed, he kept replaying the sound of your laugh when you greeted the next customer and the way you'd added the cookie to his order for whatever reason.

in his world, it was rare to be looked at without suspicion or fear. it was rarer still for someone to see him and offer kindness anyway.

the next day, he found himself walking the same route. just in case. by the end of the week, he knew your schedule and near the end of the month, he stopped denying it.

you'd given him a cookie once and now he wanted everything.

it's been over a month and simon had become a regular at the café.

he watched from his corner table, steam rising from the untouched black coffee before him. his eyes tracked your movements through the reflection in the window, a habit from years of surveillance work that civilian life couldn't erase.

the dark circles under your eyes had deepened since yesterday, he noticed. your posture communicated exhaustion, but the smile you put on your face remained genuine, like you were intent on pushing through another day with a grin.

he'd been keeping an eye on you for a while now. first out of curiosity for the person who gave him a free snack. but eventually, he noticed the quiet determination that radiated from your hunched form as you studied textbooks during off-peak hours.

fascinating, he though to himself. he hadn't seen this kind of buoyancy in a person since johnny's passing since the military. something about that stubborn resilience had triggered his attention.

and attention, for simon, had always been a dangerous thing to give.

his fingers tapped a silent rhythm against the wooden tabletop, counting the time as you moved between tables. twenty-seven seconds since you last greeted a customer, nineteen since you took a breather when the manager wasn't looking.

he knew your schedule by heart now: monday and wednesday classes until 14:00, work until 20:30, tuesdays and thursdays in class until 17:00, friday double shifts at the café, weekends varied.

simon also knew you lived in the apartment near the local park, the one with a broken entrance door. he often stared at the window that faced the alley, curtains too thin to hide your silhouette studying late into the night.

he sipped on his now-lukewarm coffee, watching as your manager chewed you out (again) for something out of your control (again). your face remained blank, but simon caught the slight tremor in your hands and the way your jaw clenched in irritation.

"pathetic," he muttered under his breath, though whether that was directed at you, the manager or himself remained unclear. simon was a former special forces lieutenant who served for almost twenty years, yet here he sat, obsessing over a college student like some lovesick teenager.

but they aren't just any student, he tried to justify. they're... different.

simon followed you home that night, keeping to the shadows as you trudged through the downpour of rain. you didn't see him, you never did. even as you looked over your shoulder, sensing a disturbance.

he watched you fumble with three different keys before finally finding the right one and disappearing into the your apartment. the urge to follow you inside had been almost overwhelming. he wanted to see the private spaces where you existed when no one was watching, where you kept your socks, what your nightly routines were.

but the time was not right yet.

soon, he promised himself.

simon had observed you for neaarly two months now and frankly, the urge to break into your apartment was impossible to resist at this point. he'd spent nearly every night watching you through your bedroom window, imagining what your private space looked like.

after weeks of deliberation, he finally made a move.

the front door lock was laughable. one turn of his pick set and it gave with a soft click. simon slipped inside, shutting the door behind him quietly. this felt like the countless infiltration missions he went on in the past.

your apartment was small, nothing fancy. wallpaper peeled in the corners of your walls and the radiator pipes made little rattling noises. but it felt homey—cosy furniture and decoration, along with the overwhelming scent of you.

he stood there for a moment, taking it all in. he'd imagined this space a hundred times from the outside and now he could see it all.

simon moved carefully, eyes scanning over the living room. a second-hand couch stood in front of a small TV and on the coffee table was an unfinished cup of tea next to a stack of textbooks with sticky notes jutting from the edges.

in the kitchen, he checked the cupboards and noticed that there was barely enough food to last the week. a small crease formed between his eyebrows. i knew they weren't eating properly, he thought. that won't do.

he drifted into your bedroom last. the bed was unmade, your sweater was tossed over a chair and the faintest hint of your perfume clung to it.

without thinking, simon's touched the fabric and held it up to his face to take a long whiff. your scent stirred something deep inside him.

he didn't touch anything else. at least, not yet. tonight was about learning and mapping the space, much like the recon missions he used to go on.

before he left, he set a small paper bag on the kitchen counter, containing a loaf of fresh bread, strawberries and some nice tea.

simon locked the door behind him—you would never know he'd ever been there. but now that he crossed the threshold once, he knew it wouldn't be the last time.

after he first broke into your apartment, simon had been keeping an extra keen eye on you, trying to discern your reactions.

at first, he noticed how skittish you seemed, looking over your shoulder every now and then, as if you were waiting for something. he almost felt bad.

he knew that you contacted the police, but he also counted on the fact that law enforcement would not put investigating a supposed break-in incident on a random college student on their priority list.

at one point, you put a chain lock on your door, but of course, that didn't deter him from sending his packages. if he could pick locks and hack into complex security systems, a simple chain was definitely not stopping him.

no matter what you tried, you weren't going to get rid of simon that easily. he was a man on a mission, determined to take care of you.

a part of him said he was just trying to do something nice for the person he was interested in, but he couldn't exactly deny that the thrill of it all felt intoxicating. it became almost impossible for him not to break into your apartment at least once a week so he could watch you sleep in the dead hours of the night. he'd just stand there, looming over your bed, staring at your peaceful, slumbering face.

not creepy at all.

you knew you had a stalker at that point, though you weren't privy to the identity of said person. simon knew that you knew, and he knew that you weren't aware it was him. he still went to the café almost daily and nothing changed in the way you interacted with him, luckily.

then one day, as if you gave up, the prevention efforts stopped. it was quite bizarre how quickly you adapted.

that wasn't too difficult when you realised how much more comfortable life became. your fridge was never empty anymore and you rarely had to worry about doing the groceries.

you stopped double-checking whether you locked the door before bed and sometimes you even left the balcony door unlocked on purpose. i'm just too lazy, you found excuses for yourself. though, the guilty part of you knew exactly why you stopped being so vigilant.

the mysterious packages were no longer surprises. they became a part of your routine. hell, at times you'd even catch yourself tidying the apartment before you left for classes or work, arranging your living space so it looked welcoming.

simon noticed it too; breaking in barely took any effort now and your apartment felt a little cosier than when he first trespassed. he almost felt proud of himself, for being able to stalk you to this extent without getting into any legal trouble.

then one night, as he entered your home while you were asleep, he found a tupperware of homemade brownies on the kitchen counter. the post-it note attached to it read "thank you :)". this made simon raise an eyebrow in slight surprise.

it was as if you were thanking your fucking stalker for dropping off care packages at your apartment. the twisted thought nearly made him smile.

that was when he noticed a vacuum flask next to the plastic container, as well as another note:

black coffee, one sugar.

- 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 -

of course, ghost's profile is private.

this guy doesn't ever post his face on his socials. in fact, he rarely posts at all.

has a black german shepherd named cerberus who he left in his brother tommy's care since he moved for college (this man misses his good boy immensely).

ghost goes to the gym with johnny sometimes, as seen in his stories.

his explore page is definitely filled with cat & dog posts, compsci memes, cooking content and those cool visualised physics explanation videos.

- 𝐤𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 -

kyle's profile is public and he has garnered quite a number of followers, most likely because he has the ability to post in that distinct influencer aesthetic.

he didn't even mean to gain this level of popularity. it's just that he has good composition and photography skills to make his pictures pop.

(totally not because this man looks fine as fuck).

truthfully, he's more introverted IRL than what is seen on social media, particularly in the way his posts only feature himself/his close friends and never really a "social" setting.

goes hiking with price for well-needed nature resets.

- 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 -

oh, this guy definitely has a public profile.

if you're wondering whether soap actually knows that many people, yes he does (i know someone like this IRL, it's insane, i could never).

posts memes and shenanigans on his story.

he actually gives good gym and workout tips. he will have his own protein shake brand one day, you'll see.

no, just because soap has a linktree doesn't mean he has an OF account (or does he? maybe he does...). it's where he links his tiktok, youtube, twitter, snapchat, tellonym, favourite charity, favourite protein powder company, etc.

basically, he's as active online as he is offline. how he manages to juggle all of that at once is beyond me.

𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲:

the instagram page is run by both staff and students.

i took inspo from several universities (i.e. harvard, oxford, sorbonne, copenhagen, toronto, groningen, zürich, UCL) when i came up with estelle.

lore-wise, it's on par with ivy league colleges, though the location of estelle is never explicitly stated.

estelle university has 8 faculties: science, social science, economics & business, law, arts & humanities, engineering, medicine, architecture.

there are roughly 150 departments and more than 250 study programmes across all degree levels at estelle.

"wouldn't miss it for the world, sir," you replied politely.

price gestured towards the nearby doors. "come on, time for introductions."

inside, away form the glaring sun, the air was cooler. the base smelled faintly of oil, gunpowder and cheap instant coffee. the captain led you down a hallway and into the main briefing room, where two men stood by the whiteboard, deep in a quiet conversation.

one of them, a massive man in full tactical gear with a skull balaclava covering his face, turned first. his cold, unreadable eyes were hard to ignore. you knew exactly who this man was: ghost, the infamous one.

the other man, a little shorter but no less imposing, wore a cheeky smirk and had a certain wildness in his cerulean eyes that screamed trouble before he even opened his mouth. you wondered to yourself whether his mohawk violated military grooming standards. it probably did, but you didn't question it.

"gentlemen," price said. "this is our new addition. thought it was about time we get some proper brains in the team."

you offered them a firm nod and a slight smile. "good to meet you."

ghost gave a grunt in response. soap, however, tilted his head and gave you a slow once-over. not disrespectfully—it more curious than anything.

"you sure they're not lost?" the scot asked price, his eyebrow arched. "looks like a civvie wandered in."

you blinked, not sure whether to be offended or amused. you were clad in a crisp blouse and jeans. not the most military-esque outfit, you had to admit.

price chuckled in response. "don't let the face fool you, mactavish. they'll outshoot and outsmart you on your next mission if you're not careful."

this piqued soap's interest, as sniping was one of his specialties. he gave a short, impressed whistle. "that so?"

ghost still hadn't taken his assessing eyes off you. "what's your role?" he asked in a thick manchester accent.

"intel and support," you replied to the lieutenant. "tactical analysis, communications, coordination, all that good stuff. i don't really shoot unless i have to."

"shame," ghost muttered.

soap grinned at that. "don't mind him. he's like that with everyone. give it a week and he'll be barkin' at you like you've been mates for years."

the lieutenant sent soap a sharp glare. you gave a small, polite laugh, though your spine stayed straight and alert.

they were intimidating, both of them. one was masked and unreadable, the other unpredictable and loud. nothing quite like the people you were used to meeting.

price clapped your shoulder, startling you the slightest bit. "you'll settle in. these two just don't know how to make a good first impression."

you nodded in response, but your eyes wandered around the room a little, noticing a missing member of the 141.

"gaz is out on a mission right now," price answered your unvoiced question. "i'll introduce you when he returns."

with that, the captain left.

soap extended a hand after a pause, his grin softening. "john mactavish. but they call me soap."

you took his hand and shook it. "i've read your file."

"aye, have you now?" he leaned in slightly. "and? what do you think?"

"about?"

"me, of course," soap said with a smug look on his face. "quite impressive, am i right?"

behind him ghost muttered. "impressive how? like when you nearly blew your leg off or the time you tried to flirt with that belgian field agent using google translate?"

it was soap's turn to throw ghost a glare. and you, despite yourself, let out a laugh. just like that, the tension dissipated, albeit a little.

ghost still watched you closely, like he was trying to decipher a riddle. but even that felt a tad less hostile now, more curious.

soap then clapped your back a bit too hard and laughed. "welcome to the circus."

a few months passed and you quickly settled in the team like a puzzle piece. it didn't take long for you to feel at home with the boys. you grew particularly close with ghost and soap.

it was during a mission in kastovia when your bond strengthened.

snow fell in lazy spirals through the fog. the op had gone sideways twenty minutes ago. intel was late, extraction compromised and your three-man team was stuck halfway across a frozen industrial complex with enemy hostiles closing in fast.

you crouched behind a half-destroyed generator with your finger pressed against the comms button, trying to get through the static.

"bravo team, status?"

nothing. so you tried again.

"ghost, come in. do not make me hike through a death trap to babysit you two, i swear to god—"

finally, a crackle.

"bit busy at the moment," ghost's voice drawled through the radio, low and strained. "got a warm welcome from local militia. soap's pinned near the boiler room."

"and you?"

"about to be."

you let out a deep sigh. "where's your exit route?"

"cut off. they blocked the north corridor." ghost paused for a second. "thought we were clever, turns out they were cleverer."

"and no one thought to bring the comms specialist in before splitting up?" you retorted in exasperation. you didn't care to watch your tone around your superior at the moment. prior to the mission, you had specifically told them to stick together.

"didn't want to interrupt your little nap."

you used colourful language as you muttered under your breath, before you pulling your rifle tighter across your chest.

"alright, sit tight. i'm coming in."

ten minutes later, you slipped through the side entrance of the warehouse, heart thumping. you moved low and quiet, navigating from memory. you had studied the blueprints for days, after all. the boiler room was three corridors east in the basement level, but you could already hear the chaos before even reaching your destination.

there were gunfire and shouts. then soap.

"bit outnumbered here!" he barked through comms, voice gruff with strain. "any chance of a miracle?"

you skidded to a halt behind a stack of huge pipes. from your angle, you had a full view—the perfect spot for a makeshift overwatch. soap was crouched behind a crate, surrounded by enemies on three sides. his magazine was nearly empty. one hostile was sneaking along the catwalk above, right in soap's blind spot.

you didn't slow to think. swiftly, you moved and brought up your scope before taking a deep breath.

bang!

the man on the catwalk dropped like a sack of cement. then another, and another. the remaining gunmen turned in confusion, but it was too late. by the time ghost emerged from the smoke, blade slick with blood and eyes narrowed, most of them were already down.

soap looked up, panting. "steamin' jesus."

ghost scanned the floor, then tilted his head. "that you, rookie?"

you wanted to roll your eyes at the nickname. you weren't exactly new anymore, but still the latest addition to the team, so the alias just stuck. you emerged from the shadows, rifle lowered and looking rather annoyed.

"i told you not to split up," you reminded the two men firmly.

soap grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "knew you missed us."

"missed you?" you snorted. "i just like my job not ending in 'clean up your corpses.'"

ghost clapped your shoulder when you re-grouped, his grip firm and brief. "well done," he said quietly.

soap gave you a look as you made your way toward the evac point. "thanks for havin' our backs."

your chin tilted into the slightest nod. "no worries."

later that night, you were gathered in a small safehouse, bruised and exhausted. soap was laid stretched across his cot like a dead starfish. ghost sat with his back against the wall while cleaning a knife. you were sitting too, a mug of tea in your hand while your feet were tucked up on your cot.

you had saved their asses, but you weren't particularly ecstatic about it.

"so," soap said between sips from his water bottle, "you gonna start lording this over us now?"

"i haven't decided yet," you said mildly. "It depends on how annoying you are over the next 48 hours."

soap groaned. "we're never living this down, are we?"

"nah," ghost concurred quietly.

you then smiled to yourself, mirroring the lieutenant and leaning back against the cool wall. these idiots weren't just your colleagues anymore, they were your boys now. and it seemed like they knew that too.

the bond you three had only grew over time. it happened gradually, starting with fetching each other coffee and late-night talks about anything.

when a slight shift was felt in your dynamic, nothing was said about it at first.

but you couldn't ignore the way soap lingered longer during briefings, leaning close enough for your arm to almost brush his. or the way ghost started waiting in your room when you took showers.

you noticed the sexually charged subtle looks soap and ghost gave each other during missions, and you started sharing your rations with the boys when you knew they both liked the same biscuits.

then the lingering touches started. a hand on your lower back to guide you through a crowded outpost, a thigh brushing against yours under the briefing table.

something unspoken built between the three of you. it was friendship, yes, but it was also more. there just had to be.

then one night, the lines blurred.

the power had gone out at base again and you were curled up in ghost's room. it wasn't officially your quarters, but no one said anything about it anymore. you, soap, and ghost had made it a habit to visit each other's rooms often.

the bed wasn't large, but that didn't matter. ghost was half-sat, half-lying against the headboard with a pillow supporting his lower back and you were curled under his arm. your head was rested against his chest and your breaths synced in the stillness.

then the door opened. soap stood there, messy-haired and backlit by the hallway emergency lights, looking like he wasn't sure whether to step in or walk away.

"didnae ken you were both here," he said, his voice low.

"there's room," ghost murmured. there wasn't really, but you three would always make it work.

you looked up, sleepy-eyed and smiling. "c'mere."

so soap did.

it wasn't weird. or maybe it was to some, but it didn't feel wrong to you. soap sat beside you first, then settled down behind you, wrapping an arm lazily around your waist. ghost's hand slid around soap's shoulder. and just like that, you fit.

you lay there for a long time, in silence, breathing each other in. the cot creaked when one of you shifted, but no one moved to leave.

later that week, you decided you had enough of the tension.

you all sat on the roof, watching the sunrise cast a glow over the hangars. you were sipping on a cup of coffee, soap was sketching in his notebook and ghost just sat with his eyes on the horizon.

"you two know this isn't... just in our heads, right?" you brought up quietly, not looking at either of them.

"no," ghost replied, not blinking.

soap glanced at you and swallowed. "been thinkin' the same."

then you all looked at each other. there was no need for declarations or grand confession, just quiet understanding.

a couple months after making the relationship official, you three decided to move in together in glasgow. outside of base and missions, your flat was where you spent the most time together.

your home life was pleasantly domestic. you were sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, laptop resting on your thighs while you analysed satellite feeds for your upcoming op.

three steaming mugs of tea sat on the dinner table nearby. johnny's with more sugar than he should consume, simon's black as his tactical gear and yours with a dot of honey and a splash of whiskey.

"love, you're gonna fall off there," johnny warned from the stove where he was cooking what he generously called 'breakfast', if you could call overcooked sausages that.

you didn't look up from your screen, your fingers dancing across the keyboard as you cross-referenced intel on known arms dealers.

"i have impeccable balance, mactavish," you sassed, amusement evident in your voice.

then simon emerged from the shower, towel slung low around his hips and beads of water dotting his skin. scars mapped his torso like paint on a cancas. his mask was nowhere to be seen and the kitchen lighting made him seem a little younger... softer.

"christ, simon, a warning would've been appreciated," you muttered, though your eyes lingered appreciatively on the way drplets traced down his chest, disappearing beneath the towel's edge.

johnny snorted from his position at the stove, using the spatula to flip what you assumed was toast.

"you've seen him naked more times than i can count and you're still actin' like a teenager."

"oh, shut it," you gave him a sidelong glance. the fact that johnny was eyeing simon just as hungrily was not lost on you. finally, you closed your laptop and slid off the counter.

your made your way over to simon, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth where a rare smile was threatening to appear through his usual stoic expression.

simon's arm came around your waist automatically, pulling you against his damp skin. he smelled like the persimmon soap you'd bought together last month.

"morning, darling," he murmured. "you missed."

his voice was rough with sleep and affection. he then locked his lips with yours in a proper kiss, eliciting a soft, delighted sign from you.

johnny abandoned his station to wrap his arms around you both. his chin hooked over your shoulder as he pressed a kiss to simon's collarbone. simon returned the gesture by placing his lips against the scot's temple lovingly, before finally kissing him on the mouth as well.

the three of you fit together comfortably, with your frame tucked between their broad bodies. johnny's warmth radiated against your back while simon stood solid and assuring in front of you.

"you're burning the eggs," you pointed out, though you made no move to pull yourself away from the embrace.

"fuck the eggs," johnny mumbled into your neck, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your skin. "this is better."

simon's free hand found johnny's wrist, his thumb tracing over the pulse point there. it was a habit he developed during your early days together, when touch still felt like a luxury he didn't deserve. you and johnny were quick to dispel such notions from his head.

the morning light streamed through your kitchen window, catching the gold in simon's hair and turning johnny's cerulean eyes the colour of sea glass.

"we've got briefing at 1400," simon said quietly, though his grip on both of you tightened instead of loosening. reality always intruded eventually with deployments and the constant loom of danger that followed you like shadows.

you wriggled in their arms to press your palms flat against simon's chest. "that's hours away and i've already done the preliminary intel analysis."

your fingers traced the raised scar tissue over his heart, a souvenir from a particularly gruelling mission that you'd kissed a thousand times, trying to heal wounds that went deeper than flesh.

johnny's hands slipped under the hem of simon's old t-shirts that your wore as sleepwear. his calloused palms found your waist, his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your bare skin that made your breath hitch.

"plenty of time then," johnny murmured, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that never failed to send heat pooling low in your belly. his mouth found the sensitive spot on your neck, grazing his teeth just hard enough to make you arch into simon's chest.

you gasped softly as johnny pressed himself harder against your frame, slowly grinding his half-chub against the cleft of your ass. simon let out a low hum of approval before leaning in to kiss you again, his tongue pushing past the seam of your mouth. it seemed like last night's steamy encounter wasn't enough to satiate their hunger.

but then the smoke alarm chose that moment to shriek in protest, filling the flat with ear-splitting noise and interrupting the intimate moment.

simon cursed creatively under his breath as he reluctantly released you both, stalking toward the stove to deal with johnny's culinary catastrophe. the charred remains of breakfast sizzled angrily in the pan, beyond salvation.

"okay, that's it," you declared, pushing past both men to yank the pan off the burner and dump its contents into the bin. "we're ordering takeaway and you're both banned from cooking until further notice."

johnny pouted dramatically. "my cooking's not that bad."

when the three of you managed to get leave in july, you didn't hesitate going on a camping trip. the scottish wind carried the scent of salt and seaweed as you fed driftwood into the makeshift firepit, flames dancing against the golden sky.

the remote beach of achmelvich bay stretched endlessly before you, turquoise water that surprisingly looked more caribbean than highland. how the beach didn't seem to have any other visitors was beyond you. johnny came up with the idea of taking you and simon to this hidden gem.

said scot emerged from the water's edge, shaking droplets from his hair like an overgrown retriever. his swimming shorts clung to his muscular thighs as he jogged up the stretch of white sand, goosebumps rising on his skin despite the pleasant mid-summer warmth.

"fuckin' hell, that water's colder than simon's personality," he gasped, grabbing a towel from your scattered gear.

simon snorted from his position on the large picnic blanket in the sand, already nursing his second bottle of tennent's. the mask was long gone after he made sure you three were the only ones at the beach.

"you're the one who insisted on swimming," he pointed out, taking a long pull from his bottle. "could've told you the atlantic ocean doesn't give a fuck about your scottish blood."

that made you laugh. the sound carried across the empty beach as you settled next to the brit on the blanket. your shorts had ridden up you thighs but you made no effort to adjust it. not when simon's eyes tracked the movement with great interest.

"stop being babies, you two," you said, accepting the beer johnny offered. "it's beautiful out here. let's enjoy that."

and it was. the sun hung lower on the horizon now, shades of amber and rose joining the golden sky like a painting you didn't have words for. waves rolled against the shore in hypnotic rhythm, each one catching the dying light like scattered diamonds.

johnny collapsed beside you, dripping seawater onto the blanket. his shoulder pressed against yours as he popped the cap off his tennent's, the familiar hiss of carbonation mixing with the crackle of burning driftwood.

"aye, it's bonnie," he agreed, though his gaze lingered on your profile as you tilted your head back to drink. he couldn't look away when your throat moved as you swallowed. the firelight caught the soft curve where your neck met your shoulder, a place he'd explored with his mouth in the darkness of your shared bed.

"remember when we thought this was impossible?" you said softly, your voice nearly lost beneath the crash of waves. "can't believe we actually got leave."

johnny's hand found yours and interlaced your fingers together. his thumb brushed across you knuckles, a gesture that had become so familiar it happened unconsciously.

"we deserve it," he murmured in reply, leaning closer to rest his head against your shoulder.

"when's the last time we did this?" you asked, gesturing at the peaceful scene with your beer bottle. "just... existed without someone trying to kill us?"

simon's fingers found the hair at the nape of your neck, scratching gently in a way that always made you melt. "too fucking long."

it felt amazing to just sit here with your boyfriends, alone at the beach and away from the hecticness of military life. you wished things could stay like this forever.

but a nagging thought in the back of your mind ruined the moment. you were a month away from the biggest operation you'd been on yet. any outcome would be possible if you weren't careful enough.

with a sigh, you straightened up a little and turned to your right. johnny lifted his head from your shoulder and gave you a quizzical look. with a small smile, you leaned in to place a soft kiss to his lips, earning a sigh of approval. then you glanced to your left and kissed simon too.

"what's wrong, love?" he asked after you pulled away, confused by the hint of melancholy in your eyes. his hand slid down to the small of your back.

you shrugged. "just... feel like it," you replied, taking the time to study his scarred face in the golden light, before doing the same to johnny, burning their faces into your memory, just in case.

then another kiss, another touch. before you knew it, you found yourself tangled between the two men, bodies trembling with pleasure as you lost yourselves in the euphony of your combined moans and grunts. after what felt like a lifetime, stars exploded behind your eyes when the moment reached its peak.

"i love you both so much," you whispered breathlessly as fatigue slowly began to set in.

in the near future, you found yourself wishing you told them that more often.

it had been four weeks since that peaceful beach day.

the warehouse you were in reeked of rust and diesel fuel. shadows danced between shipping containers as you pressed your back against cold metal. your earpiece crackled with static.

"ghost, soap, do you copy?" you whispered into the mic, fingers tapping against your tablet's cracked screen. the intel was there, enough evidence to bring down the entire arms trafficking network. but the extraction point was compromised and you could hear boots echoing through the maze of containers.

static answered. you were alone.

your tactical training kicked in as you mapped the warehouse layout in your head, calculating angles and exit routes while uploading the critical data to multiple secure servers. the upload bar crawled forward.

60%... 64%... 70%...

footsteps grew closer and russian voices were heard, low and urgent. they knew you were here.

87%...

your hands trembled as you typed rapid-fire commands, establishing data streams. if you didn't make it out, this intelligence had to survive. three months of undercover ops, countless lives at stake and it all came down to this moment.

92%...

a shadow moved past your hiding spot, close enough that you could smell cigarette smoke and gunpowder. your glock felt heavy in your free hand, safety already off. you'd trained for this scenario a hundred times, but muscle memory felt different when death breathed down your neck.

the upload completed with a soft chime in your earpiece, the sound nearly deafening from the tension. you wanted to sigh in relief, but then—

"fucking found you, little rat," a gravelly voice said in accented english.

you spun, raising your weapon, but three red dots already painted your chest. the tablet slipped from your grip, clattering against concrete as you faced down the barrels of assault rifles. your mind raced through your options: dive left behind the forklift, try for the narrow gap between containers, or go down fighting.

then a crackle. your earpiece had reconnected and you could hear johnny's voice frantic voice calling your callsign. he hadn't heard a response from you while the signal was jammed.

you needed thirty more seconds for the coordinates to reach base and for air support to lock on to the targets. so you made your choice.

you spoke your callsign clearly into your mic to make your presence known, ignoring the weapons trained on you. "i have eyes on primary target, warehouse seven-alpha. coordinates uploading now."

the lead gunman's finger tightened on his trigger. "drop the fucking radio," he snarled.

your thumb found the emergency beacon on your vest. a final failsafe that would paint your location with a GPS signal strong enough for satellite tracking. the small device beeped once, sealing your fate but ensuring the mission's success.

"wait, what are you doing?" johnny demanded when he noticed your ping in the system.

simon was a little alarmed to hear a hostile through your comms, before putting two and two together, and realising what you were planning.

"love, you're making it out of here safe and sound," the lieutenant said gruffly. "that's an order."

that made you smile sadly.

"tell soap his aim is still shit," you said softly into comms, knowing johnny would hear the tremor in your voice, the goodbye hidden in familiar banter.

"don't you fucking dare..." you heard the scot warn you.

"and tell ghost—"

the first bullet caught you in the shoulder, pushing you backward against a container.

"no! no, no, no! were you shot?" johnny, you recognised. you'd never heard him so distraught before.

pain exploded through your chest like wildfire, but you continued even as warm blood soaked through your tactical vest.

"—t-tell ghost i fulfilled my duty," you said between laboured breaths, the concerned shouts from soap and ghost through your earpiece giving you a last moment of comfort.

"don't fucking say that," simon demanded. "we reacked your location, we'll come get you."

while his tone remained mostly even, there was no mistaking the panic in his words. your boys would be the last thing you heard. you would've preferred to hear their sweet nothings instead of their pained cries, but it was better than nothing.

"package... delivered..."

the second and third shot silenced you forever, but your beacon continued its steady pulse, guiding hellfire missiles toward the warehouse complex. in your final moments, you'd given your life to keep millions of others safe.

you had given the 141 all the intel they needed to dismantle the criminal network and complete the mission.

your body crumpled to the concrete floor, blood pooling beneath you as the warehouse erupted in chaos. the enemies scrambled for cover, shouting orders in panicked voices as the distant sound of incoming missiles grew louder.

miles away, johnny's anguished scream echoed when you stopped responding while his GPS signalled the imminent missiles headed for your location. simon's fist slammed into the nearest wall, leaving bloody knuckles.

they'd lost their anchor, their brilliant analyst who waa a valuable asset to the task force and a cherished lover of two spec operators.

the warehouse complex disappeared in a ball of orange flame, taking the arms dealers and their operation with it. mission accomplished... at a cost that would haunt the surviving members of the 141 for the rest of their lives.

johnny's fingers trembled as he pulled the dog tags from his pocket, the metal warm from his body heat despite the october chill. the engravings with your name, service number and blood type had worn a little smooth in places.

details that once meant everything now felt like cruel reminders of mortality.

the sight of your name etched on the headstone before him felt jarring. that darling name johnny and simon would utter with love, now served as a statement that you were no longer with them.

they never found your body. disintegrated in the explosion, they were told. it felt extremely unfair when they watched an empty casket being lowered into your grave.

simon stood beside him, a towering shadow against the grey sky. neither of them had spoken during the drive here, the weight of shared loss making words feel inadequate.

"they always said these fuckin' things were too loud," johnny whispered, letting the tags clink together. "complained they'd give away their position during night ops."

simon's jaw tightened and his scarred hands clenched at his sides. the big man who survived torture, betrayal and countless missions looked utterly broken standing in front of your grave.

"should've been me," he finally said, voice barely audible. "should've been me who died on that bloody mission."

johnny's head snapped up, anger flashing in his blue eyes. "don't you fuckin' dare, simon. they'd kick your arse for even thinking that."

the tags slipped from johnny's grip, landing with a soft thud on the damp earth. he dropped to his knees, pressing his palms against the cold ground.

"i can't lose you too," he choked out, the words meant both for you and the man standing behind him. "christ, simon, i can't do this without either of you."

simon's composure finally cracked and he sank down beside johnny, his large frame folding awkwardly as he placed a hesitant hand on the scot's shoulder.

they had both shared your love, your bed, your dreams of the future that would never come. and now they shared this suffocating emptiness of your absence.

the wind picked up, scattering autumn leaves across the graveyard. in the distance, a bugler played for another fallen soldier, the mournful notes carrying across the cemetery like a final farewell they never got to say.

johnny's shoulders shook as the melody washed over them, each note a reminder that this was the military: lives cut short in service to something larger than themselves. he'd heard that same tune at too many funerals, watched too many coffins disappear into the cold ground.

"they hated that song," simon said quietly, his voice rough with unshed tears. "said it was too bloody dramatic."

a broken laugh escaped johnny's throat. "remember when they tried to get the base band to play 'highway to hell' at mckay's funeral instead?"

for a moment, the memory lightened the crushing weight on their chests. you were always quite irreverent, challenging protocol with a dazzling smile.

simon picked up the fallen dog tags, running his thumb over the worn metal. "what happens now?" he asked, the question more solemn than he intended.

johnny wiped his teaey eyes with the back of his hand, leaving light streaks of dirt across his cheeks. "we keep goin'. because they'd haunt us both if we didn't."

the silence stretched, interrupted only by the distant sound of traffic beyond the cemetery gates. simon's grip tightened on the dog tags, the metal digging into his palm.

"they always said we were stronger together," he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar rasp that had once whispered you endearments in the dark. "the three of us against the world."

johnny's breath caught as he stared at the headstone, remembering lazy sunday mornings tangled in sheets.

your laugh echoing between their bodies, how you'd trace the scars on simon's chest while johnny made terrible jokes just to see you smile. the way you'd kiss them both goodnight, your lips tasting of mint tea and promises you'd all believed would be forever.

"two of us now," johnny said, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. "christ, how do we even begin to figure this out?"

simon stood slowly, his knees popping from the movement, before extending a hand to johnny. when their fingers touched both men felt the phantom of your presence in the space between them.

you had always been the bridge between their different worlds, the one who made their rough edges fit together seamlessly.

johnny allowed himself to be pulled upright, his hand staying in simon's. neither wanted to break the connection. the lieutenant leaned in to place a comforting kiss to johnny's brow.

"they made us better men," simon said, his thumb brushing across johnny's knuckles. "made us believe we deserved something good in this fucked up world."

his words made johnny's chest feel tight. he remembered your fierce protectiveness, how you'd patch their wounds with gentle hands while cursing their recklessness. the way you'd hold them both during nightmares, your steady heartbeat anchoring them to safety.

"we owe it to their memory," johnny declared in a whisper, his brogue thick with emotion. "to try. to not let this destroy what they built between us."

nodding, simon finally released the dog tags into johnny's palm. the metal felt heavy in the scot's hand, weighted with memories of their shared missions, love and pain.

- 𝐤𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 -

undergraduate student (BSc) in landscape architecture — faculty of architecture.

we can all agree that pretty boy kyle™ has great artistic sense and aesthetic sensitivity. he's also creative, innovative and attuned to people's emotions/needs, which makes him a great architect.

i'd like to think that gaz loves nature, hence his specialisation in landscape architecture.

i can also imagine that he would struggle with the detail-heavy bureaucracy (e.g. strict rules, permits, regulations) that is inherently tied to his major/field of work, as it would hinder with his creativity. he's never been the red tape kind of guy.

gaz is everyone's hallway crush and he's a member of the student organisation in his faculty.

while he's not a party animal like soap, he definitely wouldn't say no to letting loose with a good drink and good company (which is a bit more often than you'd think).

- 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 -

undergraduate student (BSc) in marketing — faculty of economics & business.

you cannot tell me this man doesn't have charisma and people skills. in the campaign he easily broke down ghost's walls (aka the unapproachable man™) like it was nobody's business, he's just that good.

i think this major fits soap's profile because marketing students are all about networking, creativity, trend/brand awareness, good negotiation/persuasion skills and high energy.

i'd like to think he struggles the most with data analysis and long data reports, not because he's bad at it, but because it's so boring and repetitive.

in terms of college life, soap gives me the most frat boy vibes. he goes partying/clubbing once a week to go wild and get smashed (as in, to drink and fuck).

this guy is definitely a campus heartthrob. he's also the biggest gym rat—have you seen this man's muscles?

...𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬!

so in my fic they go to estelle university (it's an imaginary institution and the location is undisclosed).

since they're all doing different majors on different degree levels, i can't really explain how else they would be roommates, other than with soap and ghost knowing each other prior to the story, and the two deciding to share an apartment.

lo and behold, rent is horrendous in this economy, so soap puts out an ad for two more roommates.

price saw the ad first. because his stipends don't cover the full living costs + research resources for him to live alone, he takes up on it. he ends up being the one who recommends gaz to join them.

and bam! the 141 boys came to be (they call themselves that because they live in apartment 141).

as the oldest in the group with the highest education degree, price automatically becomes the leader/dad figure, keeping everyone in check and answering their questions about academia.

soap is probably the messiest roommate. however(!!), out of everyone, he's the most diligent when it comes to laundry because that was the one chore his mum designated to him back home.

ghost barely leaves his room—compsci things. surprisingly, he's the best cook in the whole apartment (and he cooks for all of them sometimes).

gaz is the one who makes their apartment look like a home because let's face it, none of the other guys have good interior design sense. as a creative person, he enjoys it, so it's a win-win for everyone.