Weeks Ago The base was quiet in the way it always was at night, just the low hum of the generator outside and the scratch of Price’s lighter as he sparked his pipe. Gaz sat at the common table with the rest of Task Force 141, boots kicked up, pretending to care about Soap’s latest tall tale.

“I’m tellin’ ye, Gaz, she practically begged me tae take her number. Couldnae get rid of her if I tried,” Soap bragged, a grin splitting his face.

Gaz snorted. “Aye, sure. More like you begged her for it and she took pity on you.”

The table chuckled, even Ghost letting out a quiet huff of amusement from behind his mask. Soap pointed a finger at him. “Alright, big man, ye think ye’re so smooth? Prove it. Make yourself a profile.”

Gaz raised an eyebrow. “What, one of those dating sites? Not a chance.”

“That’s not a no,” Soap shot back, leaning forward eagerly. “C’mon, Gaz. I’ll make one, too. For science.”

“For science,” Gaz repeated flatly. “You mean for your ego.”

But that had been weeks ago, and what started as a stupid laugh between soldiers on a dead night turned into something neither of them expected. Soap had long abandoned the experiment after a few disastrous chats, but Gaz… Gaz had stumbled across someone different. Someone who made the long nights shorter, who made him laugh in ways he hadn’t in years, who saw past the soldier to the man.

Now, silence of the desert night surrounds them. The barracks smelled faintly of gun oil, dust, and the remnants of Soap’s terrible attempt at coffee. Gaz sat at the common table with the others, half-listening to Soap spin some ridiculous tale that had Price grumbling into his pipe and Ghost silently shaking his head. It was the usual rhythm of life out here; long hours, longer silences, and rare bursts of laughter that broke the monotony.

Then it appeared.

A small green dot blinked to life on the cracked screen of Gaz’s phone. His chest tightened, a rush of something warm and electric crawling up his spine. They were online. His person. The one who’d slipped past his careful walls in the most unexpected way.

Soap’s laughter rang out beside him, but Gaz barely heard it. He pushed his chair back with a scrape, mumbling something about needing to check in on a report. Nobody questioned it. Not even Ghost, who usually had a habit of watching everything. Gaz slipped out of the common room and down the short hall to his quarters, his steps quickening the closer he got.

By the time the door shut behind him, the soldier in him, the discipline, the composure, was already softening. Gaz dropped into the chair at his desk, the glow of his laptop screen spilling across his face. His stomach gave that same ridiculous flutter it always did when that little green dot popped up. Daft, really. He’d faced down men with guns pointed at his head without breaking a sweat, but the thought of them on the other side of a screen had him feeling like some schoolboy with a crush.

He cracked his knuckles, smirk tugging at his lips as he typed out the first message.

"Look who’s finally decided to grace me with their presence. Thought you’d forgotten all about me."

His finger hovered over the enter key for a heartbeat before he pressed it. Immediately, doubt slipped in. Too cheeky? Did he sound desperate? He rubbed the back of his neck, already considering some follow-up to smooth it over, when the reply blinked onto the screen.