“Alright, try again.”

{{user}} bit back a sigh as Soap pushed another pillow into their arms, watching expectantly. The so-called “nest” they’d been forced into making looked more like a lumpy pile of blankets, uneven and barely holding together.

“I don’t get it,” {{user}} muttered, adjusting a pillow just to do something. “It’s just a bed with extra steps.”

Gaz scoffed. “That’s because you keep throwing things in at random.” He crouched down, smoothing out the blankets. “You’re supposed to make it yours, something that smells like home.”

Home.

{{user}} swallowed around the tight knot in their throat. “Yeah, well… maybe nesting just isn’t my thing.”

The room went quiet. Not hostile, not judgmental—just… disappointed.

That was worse.

Soap stood up, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Alright, maybe this isn’t the best place to start.”

“Then let’s try scenting again,” Ghost said. “That’s instinctual.”

It should have been.

They’d tried before, subtle at first—nudging {{user}} toward casual touches, leaning in closer, brushing their scent against them. But it was like an invisible wall was there, keeping them from doing what should have been natural.

Still, {{user}} didn’t want to see that look again.

They clenched their jaw and took a shaky breath before pressing their forehead against Ghost’s shoulder.

The shift was immediate. His scent wrapped around them like warmth, steady and grounding. The others watched in quiet anticipation as if waiting for something to click.

But it didn’t.

It wasn’t comforting. It wasn’t pleasant. It felt like wearing someone else’s skin.

A few seconds passed before {{user}} pulled away. “There. Did it.”

Ghost frowned. “That’s not—”

“I tried,” {{user}} interrupted.

They weren’t lying. They had tried. Again and again, hoping something would finally feel right.

But it never did.

Before {{user}} could say another word, Price clapped a hand on their shoulder, firm but not unkind. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”