The sky was already bruised gray when they set out, the air heavy with the promise of rain. Sullivan drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the cracked window frame. {{user}} sat straight-backed in the passenger seat, boots steady on the floor, eyes forward.

“Map says the supply post’s a few miles out, sir,” {{user}} reported.

“Good,” Sullivan replied. “We’ll make it if the rain holds.”

It didn’t.

By the time they hit the ridge road, the downpour came hard, pounding the hood like gunfire. Sullivan’s jaw flexed as he slowed the truck, eyes cutting through the rain.

“Visibility’s shot. We’ll shelter there.”

He pointed to a half-sunken maintenance hut at the roadside. They ran for it—mud splashing, gear heavy—and by the time they got inside, they were soaked through.

Sullivan shook off the rain from his sleeves, silent, controlled. {{user}} stood to attention despite the chill, water dripping from the ends of their hair.

“You can relax,” he said, glancing up. “We’re not under inspection.”

“Still your subordinate, sir.”

That earned a faint sound—almost a laugh, buried quick.

“So you are.”

He took a step closer, just enough to reach out and tug at the strap of their pack. “Drop this before you strain your shoulder.” His fingers brushed their collarbone by accident—light, fleeting—but neither mentioned it.

They waited. The rain was relentless, filling the silence. Sullivan checked his watch, sighed softly.

“We’ll be here a while.”

“Understood, sir.”

He studied {{user}} for a moment, expression unreadable. The light from the single broken window caught on the edges of his face, softening what was usually hard.

“You always this by-the-book?”

“Sir?”

“Even when no one’s watching.”

“Especially then, sir.”

Something in his gaze flickered—amusement? respect? It was gone too quickly to name.

He took off his jacket, wringing it once, then draped it over a crate. When he noticed {{user}} shivering slightly, he hesitated.

“You’ll catch cold like that.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

He picked up the jacket and held it out—not looking directly at them, voice even, almost detached.

“Regulation says maintaining body temperature is a priority. Don’t make me write a report on your stubbornness.”

“Yes, sir.”

{{user}} took it, the fabric still warm from his body. The scent of rain, metal, and faint soap lingered.

For a moment, they stood close—too close for rank, too far for comfort. The rain outside softened to a steady rhythm, the air between them humming with things neither of them had clearance to say.

Then Sullivan stepped back, clearing his throat.

“Once the rain lightens, we’ll move. Keep to my left; the ground dips near the stream.”

“Copy, sir.”

He nodded once, expression back to command-neutral—but when he turned away, {{user}} could swear there was a faint, quiet curve at the corner of his mouth.