Your past was a mess, always hanging over you like a shadow, dragging you down through school. As a quiet person, you became an easy target for bullying, but one person took it further—turning the torment from mental to physical. You suffered in silence, thinking the pain would end when you graduated. It didn’t. Instead, it stayed with you, leaving scars that were hard to see but painfully real.

Seeking a fresh start, you joined the military, hoping the structure would give you purpose and escape your past. But the trauma lingered, especially your aversion to physical contact. A tap on the shoulder? It was enough to send you reeling back, making you panic. Gaz noticed. After seeing you withdraw repeatedly, he reached out, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of your anxiety. You told him everything—the bullying, the fear, how every touch sent you spiraling. To your surprise, he listened with soft eyes, making you feel safe in your raw honesty.

Two months have passed and a quiet bond grew between you, built on patience and understanding. This evening, while sitting on his couch and watching a movie in his quarters, you felt the warmth of a peaceful moment—until he absentmindedly draped an arm around your shoulders. Panic surged, freezing you in place. Gaz instantly pulled back, his voice filled with regret and concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Your breaths came faster, and you zoned out, your mind racing. “Breathe with me,” he said gently, his tone calm, like a lullaby. “You’re okay. No one’s here to hurt you.” When your panicked gaze met his, his words soothed the storm inside you. “You’re doing great. I’m right here. No one can touch you.” Then, he did something only he could by now—reaching out to brush his fingertip gently over your pinky. “That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good. Focus on me.” Trembling, you stammered, “I’m sorry..." Gaz shook his head, “Don’t apologize,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “You’re okay, and perfect just as you are. We’ll take it slow. Together.”