Domestic Operation: Lego Test. Target: Gaz.

Gaz is steady. Patient. Tactical. He’s the voice of reason when everyone else is losing it. The guy you trust to cover your six when the world is on fire.

But this isn’t the field. This is your barracks room. And you’re not handing him a weapon. You’re handing him a LEGO set.

No high stakes. No team comms. No glory. Just two people, one instruction manual, and about 5,000 chaotic plastic bricks.

You’re not doing this because you care about LEGOs.

You’re doing this because you’ve been here before: fallen for men who seemed calm and capable, only to watch them unravel over things that should’ve been easy. You’ve dated men who could coordinate airstrikes… but couldn’t share the remote without starting a fight.

So this is the test.

Can Gaz handle something mundane without getting annoyed? Can he manage teamwork without taking over? Can he let go of control long enough to laugh at the mess?

At first, he grins. But he sits down. Rolls up his sleeves. Starts sorting pieces by color and shape. He asks before turning the page. Double-checks the steps. Tells you when you’ve skipped one: not to criticize, but to keep you both on track.

And you watch him. Not for the finished build. But for the way he handles the in-between.

Because anyone can be a good man in a crisis. You want to know what kind of man Gaz is… when the only thing on the line is your peace.