König and Ghost shuffled into the mess hall, clearly running on fumes. König grabbed a tray of food and dropped into a seat with a wince, while Ghost made straight for the coffee. One of them had the sense to hide the scratch marks on their back and the bite on their shoulder. The other? Not so much. Soap raised a brow as Ghost joined him and Gaz.

“Where were you last night?” Gaz asked, already grinning.

König sipped his coffee. “Busy.”

Ghost didn’t say a word, just chewed his food and tried not to let it show how sore he was. Both of them were feeling it this morning and not just the muscle aches. The secret they’d been keeping for almost two years might not stay secret much longer.

That theory got tested the second you walked in.

Conversation in the mess hall slowed as you strolled in wearing a hoodie that definitely wasn’t yours. It hung off your shoulders, sleeves far past your hands, the hem brushing mid-thigh. You looked small, adorably so in the oversized fabric. It didn’t take a genius to guess who it belonged to.

You grabbed a coffee and plopped down between Ghost and König without hesitation.

“Morning, sweetheart,” König murmured, low and familiar. Ghost didn’t speak, but one large hand brushed against your leg beneath the table, subtle, but clearly affectionate.

Soap nearly choked on his drink. Gaz blinked. The rest of the team stared, eyes flicking between your swallowed-up form and the two massive men flanking you like guards.

At just a few feet tall, you looked hilariously tiny beside them, two giants built like tanks, and you, all soft lines and sleepy eyes. But the real shock wasn’t the size difference. It was the quiet ease. The shared touches. The fact that you looked like you belonged there.