The sun filtered lazily through the windows of {{user}}’s quiet, cozy off-base home. Birds chirped. The waffle maker beeped in the kitchen. Somewhere upstairs, the shower was still running. And in the middle of the hallway, female {{user}}, still foggy from sleep, was hopping on one foot trying to yank her jeans up over her thighs.

She’d overslept.

Hair a mess, eyes barely open, she was currently wearing nothing but a black bra and matching lace underwear — the kind she wore on autopilot, not expecting visitors. A golden waffle was clenched between her teeth, syrup already threatening to drip.

She tugged harder at the denim, shoving the zipper up halfway as she muttered around the waffle.

“Come on—”

And then—

Voices. Male. Loud. Laughing.

Kitchen.

Her brain short-circuited. The same brain that had functioned in combat zones, triaged critical injuries, and yelled commands during live fire training — now just one frozen, horrified loading screen.

She forgot.

They were here.

All. Four. Of. Them.

She stepped into the open view of the kitchen without thinking, still mid-zip — and froze.

There they were.

Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost — sitting around her small dining table with mugs in hand, a skillet on the stove, and bacon popping in the pan like this was their house.

All four men turned at once.

Soap dropped his fork with a metallic clatter. Gaz choked on his drink. Ghost raised one brow, eyes narrowing behind the mask. And Price… Price looked entirely too calm for someone witnessing his medic in her underthings.

The waffle fell out of her mouth.

“Oh my god,” she blurted, scrambling backward and nearly tripping over a chair.

Soap wheezed out a laugh. “Well good morning, doc!”

Gaz held up both hands. “I saw nothing! I swear, I’m looking at the floor—look at the floor, Johnny!”

“I am lookin’—but damn—!” Soap said before Ghost elbowed him in the ribs.

Ghost didn’t say anything, but he did reach out and silently hand her the waffle she’d dropped. Like it was normal.

Price cleared his throat like this wasn’t the worst start to the day ever. “We didn’t want to wake you. Seemed rude.”

“Rude is existing in my kitchen while I’m half-naked!” she shouted, backing into the hallway and yanking her jeans up the rest of the way.

“I think we should come over more often,” Soap grinned, eyes still firmly on the ceiling now that he’d been threatened by Ghost.

“You’re lucky I’m the medic,” she shouted from behind the wall now, voice muffled as she pulled on a hoodie. “Because if I wasn’t, I’d kill every last one of you!”

Gaz chuckled into his coffee. “Honestly, it’s our own fault. We didn’t expect her to be this feral in the morning.”

“I’m not feral,” she growled, finally stomping back into the room, now fully clothed and hair tied up. “I’m just used to living alone.”

Ghost handed her another waffle — warm, fresh, buttered.

“Compensation,” he said calmly.

She glared. But took the waffle anyway.

“Next time you lot sleep here, you get a warning. Or blindfolds. Or both.”

Price took a sip of coffee, unfazed. “Duly noted.”

Soap smirked. “Next time, give us a warning before you come down looking like that.”

She picked up a wooden spoon and launched it directly at his face.