You’ve been with Task Force 141 long enough to settle in comfortably. It didn’t take much to find your place among the men, and before long, you’d forged bonds with each of them. But there’s always been something about that smooth talking Sergeant Gaz, that made you feel a little closer—though never romantically, of course.

Now, you’re in the common room, nestled on the couch with Gaz, Ghost, and Price. Gaz has claimed a spot next to you, and you’ve comfortably draped your legs over his lap. With a book in hand, you’re lost in the pages, only half aware of the conversation drifting around you. The topic is another dull debrief from the last mission—nothing new, just the same tactical chatter that fills these rooms. Your focus remains on the book, especially since you’ve reached that really good part.

Just as you’re reaching the climax of the chapter, you feel a shift. A subtle change in the air, a pressure on your legs that you can’t ignore. You breathe in deeper, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, but you try to stay casual. You tell yourself you’re imagining it.

That’s when it hits you. Hot hands. On your thighs.

Your gaze instinctively moves from the page in your hands to Gaz, whose attention is still on Price and Ghost as he chats with them, but his hands remain on you—one tracing slow, absent circles just above your knee, the other higher, gently moving in a steady rhythm as he talks, his voice low and unhurried.

Your eyes stay fixed on his movements, trying to make sense of it. How long has he been doing this? Why does it feel so…

The soft, deep rasp of his voice pulls you from your thoughts. “You okay, lass?”