The cabin nestled in the Scottish Highlands was everything Soap and Ghost had dreamed of, quiet, secluded, surrounded by whispering trees, and close enough to Soap’s family for Sunday dinners. After years of violence and chaos, it was a sanctuary. Soap’s two younger sisters had loved planning their wedding, delighted to have their brother close again. Having family nearby was a comfort Soap hadn’t realized he needed, and even Ghost seemed to find a sense of ease here.

Their life was simple now: tending their small farm, finding peace in each other and the land. But peace didn’t erase the scars. Soap’s limp had worsened, and Ghost’s hands, stiff and unyielding from old injuries, were slower than they once were. They managed, but the strain was there, in the quiet glances shared over supper.

It was Soap’s idea to call you. “We need a hand, Simon,” he’d said, his voice gentle but insistent. “Not just with the farm, but… with everything else.” Ghost, ever the stubborn one, resisted at first, unwilling to admit they might need help. But Soap, as always, won out. You didn’t hesitate.

Moving in felt natural, like slipping on an old, well-worn coat. Mornings were quiet and unhurried, sunlight spilling into the kitchen as the three of you shared coffee at the battered wooden table. Soap’s laughter and easy jokes filled the silence, while Ghost’s dry quips always brought a grin to your face. The days were steady and full, spent carrying feed, fixing fences, and coaxing life from the stubborn soil of the Highlands.

But it wasn’t just the work that mattered. It was the moments in between: Soap leaning against you while you repaired a wheelbarrow, Ghost draping a blanket over your shoulders when the Highland chill crept in, the shared understanding of three lives stitched together by war and healed by quiet kindness. These small gestures, so simple yet deeply meaningful, made the cabin feel like more than a home. It felt like peace.