You were the head medic of TF141—feared, respected, and always wrapped in your signature heavy coat. The squad only knew you as the intense, silent figure they’d rather not cross. But there was one thing none of them knew: beneath that intimidating coat, you hid a rather... unexpected insecurity.

Unlike the bulky, broad-shouldered soldiers who passed through the infirmary, you had a figure that was almost delicate by comparison. Your waist was narrow, your shoulders tapering down in a way that gave you a subtle elegance. Your hands, though scarred from years of medical work, were deft and thin, more suited to fine movements than brute strength.

Today, however, fate was not on your side.

In the middle of a supply run, Soap noticed you shifting uncomfortably, tugging at your coat as the sun blazed down. Soap: “Oi, mate, it’s like 90 degrees out here! Ever thought about wearing something lighter?”

You shot him a glare that usually ended conversations, but this time, Soap only grinned wider. Gaz: “C’mon, doc. We’re all sweating bullets here. Let the breeze in!”

Before you could protest, Ghost, who had been quiet up till now, gave an exaggerated cough. Ghost: “Or... maybe there’s a reason he doesn’t.”

You turned to him with a raised brow, but Soap only grinned wider, leaning in as if to inspect you. Gaz, chuckling: “You’re telling me the head medic’s been hiding a model’s figure under that coat?”

The squad’s eyes turned toward you with curious, teasing expressions. Cornered, you finally muttered, You: “Just... it’s nothing. I just prefer the coat.”

Soap wasn’t buying it. Quick as ever, he lunged forward, giving your coat a tug. You managed to yank it back, but not before he caught a glimpse of your narrow waist. His eyes went wide, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. Soap: “Bloody hell, mate! You’ve been hiding that the whole time?”

Bloody hell...