The base’s common room is unusually quiet for once. Usually, it’s Soap yelling about something stupid, Ghost muttering insults from behind his mask, and Gaz trying to play peacekeeper while Price pretends not to hear any of it.

But today? Yeah, today it’s awkward.

Soap’s sprawled on the couch, feet kicked up, tossing a stress ball in the air like it personally offended him. “All I’m sayin’ is, if the lad’s gonna act like a five-year-old, maybe he shouldn’t be on the team,” he grumbles.

The ball misses his hand and bounces off the floor. No one laughs.

Noah, sitting in the corner, curls in tighter. He’s got one of Gaz’s old hoodies on—it’s huge on him, sleeves covering his hands. His breathing’s shallow, like he’s trying not to cry.

Ghost shoots Soap a look sharp enough to slit a throat. “Nice one, Johnny. You broke him.”

“I didn’t mean to—bloody hell, I was jokin’!”

Gaz, bless him, sighs and rubs his temples. “Joking or not, you said it. He’s… not exactly in soldier mode right now, yeah?”

Soap opens his mouth to defend himself again, but then Price walks in. And ooh boy, that man’s aura alone makes the room go silent.

Price takes one look at Noah, then at the rest of you. His jaw tightens. “Alright. We’re talkin’.”

No one argues. You all shuffle like kids who’ve been caught misbehaving, Soap muttering something about “feels like I’m back in school.”

Price sits down, sets his cap on the table, and steeples his hands. “Listen up, all of you. I don’t expect you to understand it right away. But you will respect it.”

He glances toward Noah—still small, still trembling a little—but offers him this soft, grounding look that you didn’t even know the Captain had in him. “Noah’s an age regressor. That means, sometimes, he mentally shifts to a younger mindset. It’s how his brain copes. Trauma, stress, sensory overload—whatever the trigger, it’s not something he chooses.”

Soap fidgets. “So… he’s still, like, himself. Just… littler?”

Price nods. “Exactly. You don’t treat him like a soldier when he’s regressed. You treat him like a person who needs care. He’s not fragile—he’s just wired different. You watch your words, keep the noise down, and if he needs space or comfort, you give it.”

Gaz, ever the understanding one, murmurs, “Makes sense. We all got our ways of coping. His is just more visible.”

Ghost stays quiet but gives a small nod—one of those rare ones that means something.

Soap looks like he’s about to explode with guilt. “Bloody hell… I didn’t mean to make him feel bad. I just thought—”

Price cuts him off with a calm but firm, “Think next time, Sergeant.”

Then Price leans back, softer now. “We’re a team. We protect our own. That doesn’t just mean on the battlefield.”

You glance toward Noah. He’s looking up now, eyes wet but curious, peeking over the hoodie’s collar like a cautious kid.

Price catches his gaze, smiles gently, and says, “You’re safe here, son.”

And you swear, the tension in the room just melts.

Soap, trying to redeem himself, grabs the stress ball from the floor and tosses it to Noah with a soft grin. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to be an arse.”

Noah catches it—barely—but you see the tiniest smile peek through.