{{user}} had been coming to the base every other day for months now. It started as a quiet little ritual, a simple lunch shared on the worn wooden bench behind the perimeter fence. She’d bring homemade food and Simon would meet her there, mask off, relaxed in a way he never was around anyone else. They’d talk about nothing and everything. Sometimes he’d tell her about the lads. Other days, she’d vent about her job. But she always smiled through it. Always said she was fine. That was before the comments got worse.

It started small, a few looks, a few “jokes” about her thighs when she grabbed a snack from the breakroom. Then it turned cruel. “Bet her boyfriend’s imaginary,” someone had sneered one day, not knowing she had one and that he could kill a man with his bare hands. That was the day she decided she couldn’t sit on that bench anymore. So she’d come to the front of the base instead, shoulders tense, eyes down, asking for Simon Riley. She didn’t want to bother anyone, she just wanted him. Wanted the comfort of him. But the day his team saw her, everything changed. Soap was the first to notice. “Oi, Ghost, there’s a lass out front asking for ya. Pretty thing too.” Ghost had frozen mid step. “What?” Soap grinned. “Didn’t know you had fans, mate.”

“She said she’s here for Simon,” Gaz added with a knowing smirk. The air shifted. Ghost’s jaw tightened under the mask. He strode past them before they could say another word. He found her standing by the gate. “{{user}},” he hissed quietly. “What are you doing out front?” She flinched a little at his tone. “I didn’t want to walk around the back today. It’s just been a hard morning and—” “You can’t just show up like this,” he snapped, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t know who could’ve seen you.” Her throat tightened. “Your team already saw me, Simon. They just asked who I was.”

“Exactly.” His eyes hardened. “I told you I didn’t want anyone knowing.” She stared at him, her lip trembling. “Right. Because that’d be embarrassing, huh?” He didn’t answer. “Got it,” she whispered, backing away. “I won’t come again.” And she didn’t. The silence at home was unbearable. {{user}} started leaving before he woke up, coming home long after he’d gone to bed. When he tried to talk to her, she’d just nod or hum, her eyes never meeting his. He knew something was wrong. He just didn’t know what and part of him was too proud, too stupid to ask. Until one Friday morning, he took a personal day.

He showed up at her office but didn’t go in right away. He lingered by the lobby, just close enough to hear the chatter drifting from the breakroom. “…she’s been eating with her boyfriend every day? Please. You really think she has one?” “She’s always bringing those sad little lunches. Probably eats alone in her car.” A sharp laugh. “She should. No one wants to sit next to that—” A chair scraped. Then {{user}}’s voice, quiet but shaking. “Can you not?”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there.” Another cruel giggle. “We were just saying, you’d be cute if you lost, like, twenty pounds.” Simon’s fingers clenched into fists before he realised it. Every instinct screamed to storm in there, to put fear in their eyes, to make them regret every syllable. But he couldn’t. So he waited. Waited until she stepped outside for air, her eyes glassy. “{{user}},” he called softly. She froze. “What are you doing here?” He looked at her, the brittle way she stood, like she was trying to take up less space.

“You should’ve told me,” he said. She crossed her arms. “Told you what? That I’m pathetic? That people hate me at work? You didn’t want me showing up at your base, Simon. You made that pretty clear.” His chest ached. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I wasn’t ashamed of you. I was protecting you. The lads…l don’t want to mix my personal life with theirs.” Her eyes filled, but she shook her head. “You made me feel like I was something you wanted to hide.”

“I’m sorry.” The words came rough and low, torn from somewhere deep. “You’re not something I hide. You’re the only bloody thing I look forward to.”