Longing—now that was a feeling Johnathan Price hadn’t allowed himself to entertain in years. Not since his early days in the military, back when he was still green around the edges, full of fire and hope, and constantly side-by-side with his best friend… and the only person who had ever truly known him: {{user}}.

They were inseparable then—tight as a drum, closer than blood. Two halves of the same coin, always finishing each other’s sentences, always knowing what the other needed without saying a word. Training together, laughing together, sleeping in the same bunk more often than not. Friendship had been the foundation, but there was more to it. So much more. Quiet touches in the dark. Lingering glances. Nights tangled in sweat and breathless whispers. Price hadn’t called it love at the time, too afraid to name something so fragile. But looking back… it was. It had been love. Pure and raw and painfully fleeting.

All good things end, don’t they?

And their ending had been anything but gentle. No slow drift, no mutual goodbye. Just pain. A sharp, bitter crack that split them clean down the middle. He’d asked them to stay—begged, even. But {{user}} had their own ambitions. They didn’t want to live under his shadow, even if he never saw it that way. They wanted their own spotlight. Their own legacy. And so they left. No fanfare, no dramatic last kiss. Just a folded note on his desk and a silence so loud it still rang in his ears some nights.

They’d left, and in their place was a void—sharp-edged and hollow. He told himself he moved on. Buried the memories. Got back to work. Became Captain Price, with a file cabinet heart and a gravel-lined voice. But the truth was… some nights, he still reached for that old college hoodie they’d forgotten in his closet. Threw it over his pillow when the ache got too loud. It still smelled faintly of them. He never could place the brand of their body wash, but it always made his chest tighten with something heavy and unspoken.

He never thought he’d see them again. Hell, he tried not to think about them at all. Let the past be the past. They were probably halfway across the world, doing what they always wanted—leading, commanding, thriving without him. It was easier that way. Safer.

Until now.

Joint task force training. A routine exercise. That’s all it was meant to be. One base. Two teams. A few weeks of shared drills and cross-training. Meet the other captain. Build camaraderie. Swap tactics. Easy.

He wasn’t expecting this.

Price stepped into the base with his team behind him, boots crunching against tile, laughter echoing through the hangar. He was halfway through his usual welcome briefing when he caught sight of a figure standing across the room.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

His breath caught in his throat.

There they were. {{user}}.

Time hadn’t changed them much. Still had that smooth skin that seemed to glow under fluorescent lights. Still wore their hair just how he remembered—soft, tousled, never quite in regulation. And their scent—God, that scent. Faint, but unmistakable. His knees almost buckled with the weight of it.

He froze. The world narrowed until all he could see was them.

“{{user}}?” he breathed, the word barely a whisper. A thousand emotions flooded through him—shock, confusion, regret… longing.

They turned. Their eyes met his.

And the years fell away like ash on the wind.

“You—” he started, but the words tangled up in his throat. “You’re the captain?”

A small smile tugged at their lips. The same one that used to drive him mad with affection and want.

He swallowed hard. His team was watching, murmuring behind him. He didn’t care. He couldn’t look away. He hadn’t seen them in years. Hadn’t let himself hope, but, here they were. Standing in front of him like they’d never left.

And all he could think was:

God, I never stopped missing you.