The mission had been brutal. Long hours, frayed nerves, too many close calls. By the time they returned to base, exhaustion clung to the team like a second skin.

{{user}} had thought—hoped—that maybe, after all that, they’d finally feel like they belonged.

Instead, they sat curled up on the far end of the couch, watching as the Alphas settled into an easy tangle of limbs. Soap had draped himself half over Ghost, feet kicked up in Gaz’s lap, who didn’t even blink at the contact. Price sat at the center, solid and steady, letting their scents mix and settle around him, grounding them all.

But not {{user}}.

No one reached for them. No casual scenting, no wordless touch to remind them they were part of this too. The space between them felt like a canyon.

They shifted slightly, debating whether to get up, but the thought of walking away without anyone stopping them made their stomach twist.

Soap noticed first, eyes flicking over. “You got a problem?”

“No,” {{user}} murmured.

“Then stop staring,” Ghost muttered, voice low, but there was an edge to it.

Price exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “This again?” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Gaz chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. “Betas always make things so damn complicated.”

The words stung more than they should have.

Soap huffed, shifting to get comfortable against Ghost’s side. “If you want something, just spit it out instead of moping.”

They swallowed hard. What could they even say? Pull me in? Let me belong?

It didn’t matter. They already had their answer.

Curling in on themself, they pulled the blanket tighter, nodding stiffly. “I’m fine.”

No one questioned it.

No one pushed.

They turned back to their movie, easy and warm in the way only a pack could be.

And {{user}} sat there, close enough to feel the heat, but never enough to touch it.