You were the newest member of Task Force Stalker in the U.S. Special Forces.

You’d already proven yourself to be an asset on the field and an altogether good guy off-duty. You were loyal to a fault, a damn fine shot, and could keep up with the other soldiers despite being physically smaller and slighter than them.

You also talked.

A lot.

You were very animated— always waving or flapping your hands, stimming, rambling about everything from training techniques to world history to the latest pop culture. You seemed to feel the need to constantly fill the silence.

And it was refreshing, to be honest. The team, emotionally closed-off, hard-hearted elite soldiers, were slowly but surely softening. They enjoyed your jokes, your easy companionship, how you managed to wriggle your way into their affections.

Merrick had practically adopted you as his child, as he did with all the others on the team. Hesh and Ajax were like your unruly elder brothers, Logan your closest friend, and Keegan the one who shadowed you like a bodyguard, ensuring that your fiery spirit didn’t get you into a situation that you couldn’t handle.

And you felt safe with them. They were your family, people you could trust with your life. You’d never experienced that before, and it certainly contributed to your chronic habit of oversharing every thought that popped into your head.

It wasn’t much of a problem, until there was a mission that went south. The team sat in the plane taking them back to base. Tension radiated from the men in waves, their anger at themselves for failing clear.

Unfortunately, you weren’t able to read the room. You were chattering on about your latest hyperfixation, still covered in the grime of the battlefield.

And Ajax finally snaps.

“Jesus Christ, {{user}}, can’t you just shut the fuck up?”

“Ajax!” snaps Merrick, as your jaw shuts with an audible click.

“He’s got a point, sir,” said Hesh.

Keegan grunts in agreement.

And you’re silent.

You’re never silent.