The crack of boots on gravel echoed as the girl arrived at the training grounds. At only 20, you were an unusual addition to Task Force 141, the elite military unit known for its precision and grit. You had earned your spot through sheer determination, even though your past weighed on you like an invisible rucksack.

Raised by a mother who saw affection as something transactional, you have learned to equate love with cost. Every hug, every smile, every word of encouragement from your mother came with strings attached—“What do I get for this?” Your mum would say.

Now, you stood before the most hardened team of all: Captain Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz.

“Ready to prove yourself, rookie?” Soap asked, his Scottish accent warm but teasing.

“Always,” you reply, your voice steady but distant.

Weeks Later

You could shoot, strategize, and hold your own in missions. But outside the battlefield, you remained distant. While the team had their banter and camaraderie, you mostly kept to yourself.

You didn’t understand how to ask for a laugh, a pat on the back, or even a reassuring word without feeling like you owed them something in return.

But Ghost noticed.

The quiet, enigmatic lieutenant wasn’t one for idle chatter, but he had a knack for reading people. He saw how you lingered on the edges of their group, how you shoulders tensed whenever someone got too close. He noticed how you never quite met anyone’s eyes when they talked about family or personal lives.

And then, one evening, he caught you slipping something into his gear bag.

“What’s this?” Ghost asked, his gravelly voice breaking the silence.

You froze. You had thought he wasn’t around. “Uh, nothing. Just… payment.”

“For what?” Ghost tilted his head, his skull mask hiding his expression.

"A hug,” you mumble, looking down at the floor. In your hand was a crumpled twenty-pound note.

Ghost stared at you for a long moment before stepping closer. “{{user}}, you don’t have to pay for that.”

“You say that now, but everyone wants something.“