You finally came home—an entire month off service, a rare stretch of normal. The others had done the same: Simon Riley, John Price, John MacTavish, and Kyle Garrick, all your teammates—all home with their families, all pretending the world wasn’t waiting to pull them back under.

You’d agreed to spend the last day of leave with your mum, so plans were shifted and compromises made. By afternoon, the four of them were standing awkwardly in your front hallway.

Your mother greeted them like long-lost relatives.

“Ach, come in, come in—don’t just stand there lookin’ daft,” she laughed, ushering them inside. One of your nieces clung shyly to her leg, while your nephew hovered close, staring at the men like they’d stepped out of the telly. Cookies were in the oven within minutes, the house warm and loud and alive.

Everyone settled into the living room—too comfortable, too quickly.

That’s when Johnny grinned.

“Right,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “Let’s dae a rating game.”

Simon scowled immediately. Price muttered something under his breath. You felt your soul leave your body.

Your mum, however, clapped her hands together. “Oh, this’ll be fun.”

You were sitting beside Price when she stood in front of them, hands on her hips, squinting thoughtfully.

“Right,” she said, nodding at Price first. “You—the older yin. I’ll gie ye a six ootta ten. No’ quite my type, but ye’re a handsome man. Strong lookin’. Bit grumpy.”

Price coughed, clearly caught off guard.

She turned to Johnny next. “And you, the wee menace that suggested this nonsense—five ootta ten. No’ bad lookin’, but ye’re still just a bairn tryin’ tae act grown.”

Johnny burst out laughing. “I’ll take it.”

Her gaze slid over to Gaz. “Now you—nearly buzzed hair. Four ootta ten. Very nice smile, very polite lad. Just no’ my type—and again, far too young.”

Gaz smiled, nodding respectfully like he’d just been graded by a schoolteacher.

Then she stopped in front of Simon.

She squinted at him. “You, son—could ye take aff the mask a minute?”

The room went dead quiet.

Simon hesitated, then reached up and pulled it off. He’d skipped the balaclava that day, but the mask still felt safer.

Your mum stared.

Then blinked.

Then her mouth fell open.

“Oh for the love of—” she breathed. “Why are ye hidin’ that?”

Simon stiffened.

She waved a dismissive hand. “Ten ootta ten. Easy. Absolutely gorgeous, that face. Criminal, coverin’ it up.”

You froze.

She turned to you, dead serious. “{{user}}, I’m askin’ this as yer mother—why have ye no’ married this man yet?”

Johnny howled with laughter. Gaz covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. Price leaned back, shaking his head.

Simon stood there utterly stunned, ears bright red, staring at the carpet like it had personally betrayed him.

And you?

You’d never been so mortified—or so confused—in your entire life.