The mission had gone wrong: so terribly, impossibly wrong, it was a miracle Joe Graves was standing at all. Firefights had dragged on for days, men falling, the chaos of bad intel nearly getting them all wiped out. By the time he and what was left of his team staggered back stateside, their bodies were battered, but the real wounds were buried deep in bone and memory. Tonight, at a low-lit bar, he sat hunched over a glass of bourbon, shoulders tense, his brothers-in-arms trying to drown the ghosts with him.

“You’re starin’ at that drink like it’s the damn enemy,” Buddha muttered, knocking Joe’s shoulder with his own. “Take it down, Graves. You need it more than anyone.” Alex leaned in from the other side, his voice quieter, almost careful. “We all got out, Joe. That’s what matters. Don’t let it eat you alive.”

But Joe only tightened his grip on the glass. The bar’s jukebox crooned an old tune, and then—BANG. A tray of dishes shattered in the back, the crash echoing like a grenade. Joe’s chest locked, the world spinning into muzzle flashes and screams. He was up in an instant, fists clenched, eyes wide and wild, chest heaving. It was Buddha’s steady hand and Alex’s sharp voice that dragged him back, grounding him enough to stagger outside into the rain.

And that was how he ended up here—standing at your doorstep, a year after you’d walked away.

You had been his anchor once, the only person who could reach through the fog and chaos. He remembered lazy Sunday mornings, your fingers tracing the scars on his chest as if memorizing them; the warmth of your laughter when he stumbled through cooking breakfast; the way you’d waited for his late-night calls from some desert half a world away. But the deployments stretched long, and you had your own career to chase. The parting had been gentle, mutual, but it had cut Joe open all the same.

Now, rain plastered his hair to his forehead, streaked blood mixing with the water where his rough patch job barely held. His knuckles were torn raw, ribs aching with every breath, and still he stood there, shaking from more than just the cold. His eyes were dark hollows, heavy with exhaustion, and yet there was something vulnerable glinting there, a plea that had no words strong enough to hold it.

For the first time in a year, his voice broke through the storm, rough and unsteady. “Didn’t know where else to go.”