It was a stakeout mission, and the team was huddled in the chilly dark of a safe house—just you, Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz. Supplies were sparse, and to everyone’s dismay, there were only four sleeping bags. The five of you drew cards to decide who’d be doubling up. Luck, as it often did, wasn’t on your side. You lost.

That left you paired with Price, who, in his own irony, hadn’t thought to pack a sleeping bag at all.

The night wore on, the frigid air biting harder as you all settled in. Wrapped in a gray T-shirt, black sweatpants, and thick socks, you slid into your sleeping bag, trying to make the best of it. Moments later, Price approached, his shadow cutting across your form as he knelt beside you.

“I’m coming in,” he murmured in a low voice, not really asking but also giving you a chance to protest.

You didn’t.

Sliding in behind you, the space grew impossibly snug, his warmth seeping into your back as he settled in. Your bodies fit together with an unexpected ease, his arm brushing yours as you adjusted. A comforting weight filled the air, his steady breathing falling in rhythm with yours.

Just as you began to drift into the pull of sleep, his voice broke the quiet. It was soft, almost unsure.

“Why are you always the one to give?”

The words lingered, heavier than they had any right to be, and you felt him shift slightly behind you as if waiting for an answer.