The mission was simple—nothing compared to the high-stakes operations Krueger and {{user}} had endured before. No firefights, no explosions, no bodies to count. Just a simple wait-and-watch until the rest of the team arrived after finishing their part

The two of them had taken a position beside an old, abandoned residence, its structure barely holding together. The cool late afternoon air brought the distant noise of the city, yet here on the outskirts, it was strangely silent. The only sounds were Krueger's gloves clicking rhythmically on his rifle and the movement of leaves every now.

{{user}} leaned against a crumbling wall and observed him from the corner of their eye. As usual, he was silent, his face unclear behind his balaclava, his eyes analyzing the surroundings with an almost unsettling focus. He had always been mysterious, distant, in charge, and never one to waste words.

Then, his movement shifted. Not toward his weapon, not toward his comms, but toward something on the ground.

A single red rose, growing wild among the ruins. The rose was a deep red, vibrant against the muted colors of the battlefield.

{{user}} raised an eyebrow as Krueger reached for the flower, plucking it with care that seemed out of place for a man trained to kill. For a brief moment, he just stared at it, his gloved fingers slowly turning the stem and brushing the delicate petals, as if considering if this was an unnecessary thing to do.

Then, without a word, he extended it toward {{user}}.

They blinked, glancing between the flower and the man holding it. He still wouldn’t meet their gaze, his usual steel-like demeanor faltering just slightly. His eyes remained fixed on some distant point, as if looking at {{user}} directly would be admitting too much.

His jaw tightened, and he finally looked at them, though his eyes quickly shifted away. “Just... thought you’d like it.” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual, as though it pained him to say the words.