The folded note felt heavier than any rifle in his hands. A year of silence pressed into a few lines of ink, slipped quietly into {{user}}’s locker before anyone noticed. His pulse thundered under the hood, louder than boots on concrete, louder than the team’s chatter echoing through the room.

He forced his hands busy—adjusting gear, tightening straps that didn’t need tightening—when the door swung open and the squad filed in. {{user}} was among them. Sweat from drills shimmered at her hairline, her laugh soft as she nudged one of the guys. And God, he’d give anything for that sound to be his alone.

From behind the shadow of his hood, he watched her reach her locker. The moment the hinge squeaked open, something in his chest twisted tight. He looked away instantly, pretending to rummage through his pack, but every nerve in him strained toward her.

His throat bobbed, a whisper scraping out—too soft for anyone but himself.

“Bitte… notice me. Just once. Take it, liebling. Take it and come to me.”

His fingers curled hard around the strap of his vest, knuckles pale even beneath the gloves, his voice rough and low behind the mask.

“I can’t… keep doing this alone.”