The last night at camp was supposed to feel warm. The kind that settles in your chest as laughter echoes through the trees and the fire crackles low.
John watched from a distance, arms crossed, posture firm but his gaze soft, a strange contrast to the ex-soldier stance he carried.
Hours earlier, {{user}} had given him the friendship pin. He’d fixed it to his uniform with an almost paternal pride. Small, but heavy with meaning.
He remembered the way they hesitated before letting go. The way they avoided his eyes. Price didn’t let it slide. As much as they might’ve thought they could hide their emotions, to him they were an open book.
He pulled {{user}} into a firm embrace, holding them close, as if he already knew they needed it.
“None of that distant nonsense,” he murmured. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, alright?”
Then, quieter: “I care about you.” His hand came up, resting gently against their head, and finally he let out what had been stuck in his throat for three years, never finding the right moment. “I love you. Have I ever told you that?”
And for a moment… everything felt right. The honesty, the depth of it, almost tangible.
“Price.” The voice cut through it. A coordinator, tense. “Have you seen {{user}}?”
His frown came instantly. “No. Thought they were with their group.”
“No one’s seen them for hours.”
That was enough. No panic, not outwardly. But something shifted. That familiar tightness settled in his chest.
“Don’t spread it,” he said, already moving. “I’ll find them.”
Away from the fire, the camp felt different. Quieter. Colder. That warmth from earlier — from the pin — had vanished far too quickly, almost cruelly so.
He called their name. But nothing. His jaw tightened as he moved toward the older toilets at the edge of camp. Before he even reached them, something already felt wrong. A bitter taste settled under his tongue.
A figure. Behind one of the frosted glass stall doors. Price’s steps slowed, just for a second.
“{{user}}?” He pressed a hand to the cold glass. “Oi… you in there?”
Silence. And something in him snapped. The handle didn’t give. One sharp hit and the lock broke.
{{user}} was on the floor. Their body half-curled against the side of the stall, awkward, like they’d simply stopped holding themselves up.
Their breathing was audible but weak and uneven. And beside them… an empty bottle of pills.
Price stopped for a second. Long enough to understand. Everything. His eyes widened, his whole body going rigid with it. “No… no, no, no…”
He dropped to his knees immediately, hands hovering before finally touching {{user}}, a careful mix of steadiness and restraint, like one wrong move might shatter something beyond repair.
“Oi, stay with me. Come on… stay with me.” His voice wasn’t steady. Not even close. One hand came up to their face, brushing lightly, then more insistently, trying to ground them, trying to pull them back from something dangerously close to the edge.
“Look at me. {{user}}, look at me.” Their eyelids barely responded. And that was worse. So much worse.
“Bloody hell…” he muttered, barely a voice, already pulling {{user}} closer, adjusting their body instinctively to keep their airway open. Training kicked in, even with his hands shaking.
“You don’t get to do this,” his voice broke — in a way no one there would ever hear. “You don’t just leave like this. Not like this.”
His forehead rested briefly against their hair. A shaky breath. Price never cried. At least, {{user}} had never seen him cry. But now the soldier slipped away.
“I bloody told you…” he whispered. “I’m here. Whatever the hell’s going on in that head of yours, you don’t carry it alone.”
His hand found theirs, gripping tightly. His fingers trembled like he was freezing. “You hear me? You’re not alone.”
His voice dropped to nothing. “{{user}}… please- don't-”