You and Roach? Bitter enemies. Everyone in Task Force 141 knew it. If there was a way to get under each other’s skin, you’d find it. The team had long accepted the constant shouting matches, sarcastic comments, and outright disdain between you two.

That evening, the rest of the team was winding down. Price was in the kitchen with Gaz and Soap, putting the finishing touches on dinner. Ghost was stretched out on the couch, fiddling with a thread from his gear, clearly enjoying the rare moment of peace. But something was missing.

“Where the hell are Tweedledee and Tweedledum?” Soap asked, glancing over at Price.

Price shrugged, tossing a glance toward the hallway. “No idea. Probably tearing each other apart somewhere. Ghost, go find them, will you? Dinner’s ready.”

Ghost let out a long sigh but stood up, muttering, “They’d better not be pulling each other’s throats out.”

“Bet they’re arm-wrestling to see who gets to insult the other first,” Soap quipped with a laugh, earning a smirk from Gaz.

Ghost trudged down the hall, the sound of his boots echoing against the quiet. When he reached Roach’s door, he knocked sharply. No answer.

He waited a second, then knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing. Irritation bubbled to the surface, and Ghost finally had enough. He pushed the door open, ready to bark out a reprimand.

“Oi, you two bloody—” His voice stopped mid-sentence. The sight in front of him hit like a sucker punch.

Roach was sitting on his bed, but that wasn’t the shocking part. You were sprawled across him, your head buried against his neck, one arm lazily draped over his chest. Roach had his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You were both asleep.

Ghost blinked, then blinked again. His brain struggled to connect the dots. You—the one who couldn’t go five minutes without hurling an insult at Roach—and Roach, who had sworn he’d never work with you without a fight, were curled up like a couple who’d been together for years.