The rain is relentless—thick, unyielding sheets that batter the abandoned cabin you and Gaz found shelter in.

You weren’t supposed to get separated from the rest of the team. The extraction point was only a click out when comms went dark and the storm rolled in fast. No satellite, no updates—just the two of you and a dim lantern flickering in the corner of a creaking room.

Outside, the wind howls through trees. Inside, the air is heavy—not from the cold, but from everything that’s been unsaid.

Gaz sits on the floor, legs outstretched, back against the wall. His boots are off. His tactical vest is lying in a heap by the door. His damp shirt clings to him, the occasional shiver betraying how long you’ve both been sitting in silence.

“You alright?” he asks, voice low and calm.

You nod, arms wrapped around your knees. “I’ve been worse.”

He gives a small smile. “Yeah, I’ve seen you worse.”

You glance at him. “You saying I’m a walking disaster?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m saying you’ve been through hell and always come out swinging. That’s all.”

That’s Kyle. Gentle jabs and genuine warmth. A soldier through and through—but with a softness he only shows when no one else is watching.

And right now? No one’s watching.

“I hate storms,” you admit quietly. “They remind me of everything I can’t control.”

He hums in agreement. “Yeah. Weather’s like war sometimes. You just survive it. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t get inside your head.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you look at him—really look at him. There’s water dripping down his temple, hair flattened to his forehead. He looks exhausted. But he’s here. Present. Focused.

On you.

“You’re cold” he says more of a comment than a question.

You simple Nod and sigh. “So are you”

That damn smile tugs at his lips as he grabs his damp jacket and tosses it to you. “Correct, but you need this more than me. Put it on”