The front door creaked open.

Reg stood in the doorway, a shadow against the late afternoon light. He looked… smaller than before. Shoulders hunched, posture heavy. His duffle bag hung from one hand, worn and scuffed, streaked with dried mud and jungle grime. His uniform still smelled faintly of smoke and metal. The red bandana on his head—dirt-smudged, fraying at the edges—held back oily, unwashed hair.

Home was quiet.

Until—

Footsteps. Fast. Familiar.

“Reg!”

And then—lips.

{{user}} collided into him with a kind of desperate joy, arms flying up, hands cradling the back of his neck, and their mouth pressed hard against his. No hesitation. No warning. Just the kind of kiss that steals breath, that says I thought I lost you, I missed you, don’t you ever disappear like that again.

Reg’s brain short-circuited. His duffle bag hit the floor with a heavy thud.

His hands twitched at his sides. He didn’t move, didn’t pull away, didn’t even blink. His whole body had gone rigid, like a soldier hearing gunfire—except this wasn’t war. This was soft. Warm. Intense.

His mind tried to catch up. But everything scrambled.

{{user}} was kissing him. They were touching him. They were his best friend. His best friend’s hand was on his neck and their lips were—

He liked it. More than he was ready for. More than he understood. It wasn’t a punch or a gun or a survival instinct. It was real affection. Human. And it made his whole nervous system go haywire.

He melted before he even realized it.

The kiss was deep. Too deep. Brain-melting deep. He didn’t even know what to do with his hands—hovering awkwardly, trembling slightly, unsure if he should touch back or just collapse. His heart was sprinting, blood rushing to his face so fast he felt lightheaded.

And then, slowly, {{user}} pulled back. Their eyes were glassy, smiling, full of emotion.

Reg’s eyes were wide. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His mouth opened—nothing came out.

He blinked hard, trying to reboot. A small sound escaped his throat.

“P-ppretty— o-oh l-lord,”* he finally managed, his voice cracking embarrassingly mid-word.*

His face turned bright red, matching the filthy bandana clinging to his greasy hair. His expression flickered somewhere between horror, awe, and absolute flustered disbelief. His knees felt weak. His lips tingled.

Across the room, his mother, who had come rushing in at the noise, paused by the kitchen doorway—hand to her chest, eyes warm.

His dad, seated in the recliner with a cold beer in hand, His whole world had narrowed to the heat on his face and the ghost of {{user}}’s lips still buzzing on his.

Best friend. Kissed him.

His eyes darted up to meet theirs again. That familiar face—safe, alive, smiling—and for a second, something deep in his chest unlocked.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t need to.

But damn... He really, really liked it.