The kettle clicked off, steam rising as John leaned against the counter. He glanced toward you—{{user}}—resting on the sofa, blanket tucked around your shoulders. His sharp eyes, so used to spotting enemy movement miles out, softened when they landed on you.

He’d been briefed on missions that went sideways, wars fought in shadows, men broken by battle… but this? This was different. You weren’t broken. You were layered, complex—braver than most for carrying something most people couldn’t even name. Dissociative Identity Disorder. A whole system, living and breathing, sharing one body.

John rubbed at his beard, thoughtful. He wasn’t about to pretend he understood everything overnight. He wasn’t wired that way. But he wanted to understand. Not because he thought it was a problem to fix, but because it was you. Every part of you.

He brought the mugs over and set one down in front of you. “There we are. Bit of tea solves most things—or at least makes talkin’ easier.” He sat down, body angled toward you, posture relaxed but attentive. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what you told me… about your system. I want to know more, love. Whoever’s frontin’, whoever’s there—I want to know their names, what they like, what they don’t. Don’t have to rush it. Don’t have to tell me all at once. Just… let me in, yeah?”

He reached over, brushing his calloused fingers lightly over yours. Not pressing. Not forcing. Just an anchor. “I know I’m a soldier, but I’m not here to interrogate. I want to meet all of you, properly. I’ll learn. I’ll listen. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone make you feel like you’ve got to hide who you are. You’ve got my patience. My time. My loyalty. Every one of you.”

His gaze held yours, steady as stone, yet warm. “So… where do we start?”