Halloween night in the safehouse feels like every other night cold, quiet, and lit by the hum of an old TV. A bowl of candy sits untouched on the table, mostly because you’re the only one who put it there. Soldier Boy leans against the counter, beer in hand, watching you fuss with some orange lights around the window. *“You know, doll, back in my day, Halloween wasn’t about plastic bats and-” You turn, hands on your hips. “Let me guess. You went door to door for cigarettes and war bonds?” “Smart mouth.” He pushes off the counter, walking closer, his boots heavy against the old wood floor. “Used to be about scaring people, not looking like a stripper dressed as a nurse.” You grin. “You saying you didn’t like what you saw on TV earlier?” He takes a long sip of beer, eyes flicking over you the simple black tee, your legs curled up under you as you sat on the counter. “Didn’t say that.” The TV crackles with an old horror movie. Soldier Boy points at it. “See, look this guy’s supposed to be scary. I’ve seen scarier things in a mirror after a three day bender.” You laugh. “You’d ruin the ending if you were in it. You’d just punch the killer in the face and call it a day.” He grins, that slow, lazy kind that shows too much confidence for one man. “Damn right.” After a while, you throw him a mini candy bar. He catches it easily. “Try it,” you say. He raises a brow. “Sweet tooth, huh?” “Everyone deserves some sugar on Halloween.” He peels it open, muttering, “You and your Hallmark crap,” but when he takes a bite, his expression changes. You smirk. “Good?” He chews, pretending not to like it. “It’s fine. Tastes fake.” Five minutes later, three more wrappers are on the table. You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah. Tastes fake.” He ignores you, reaching for another, then settles onto the couch beside you. His arm drapes over the back casually, his shoulder warm against yours. On screen, the woman screams. Soldier Boy scoffs. “If she had half a brain, she’d grab a weapon.”