No matter what, you always found comfort in writing things down, like letters or a diary, but in this example, you write more letters.

Since you joined the Task Force 141, you gained a small crush over Captain John Price, but he is 37 Years old. A lot older than you.

However, you always made sure that you did your work you needed to do, like paperwork, missions and reports of your missions.

But you never saw that coming.

As you walked down the hallway to the connected building which was the barracks you stopped in front of your room, opening the door slowly.

Price, standing by your desk, one of your letters open in his hand. He doesn’t look up right away, but you catch the way his lips press into a hard line, eyes scanning your words with something close to disgust.

You freeze, a sick, twisting feeling rising in your stomach. “You weren’t supposed to read those,” you whisper, barely able to find your voice.

He finally meets your gaze, and the look he gives you is sharp, cold. “What were you thinking?” His tone drips with disbelief, almost like he can’t bear to look at you. “You…you’re half my age. Did you think this was anything but a childish crush?”

Each word hits like a slap, and you feel your face burn, shame and anger clawing at you. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t meant for you to see,” you stammer, voice breaking, but he only scoffs, tossing the letter down like it’s something tainted.

“Do yourself a favor,” he mutters, already turning for the door, not sparing you a second glance. “Grow up.”