It was half past midnight when the front door creaked open.

Correction: It slammed open, rattling the hinges, followed by Soap tripping over the welcome mat and yelling, “I’m fine!”—as he caught himself on the side table with all the grace of a breaching charge going off early.

Ghost came in behind him, not nearly as steady as he thought he was. Mask still on, still somehow dignified—except for the fact he was clutching a half-eaten kebab like it was classified intel. “Urban camouflage,” he whispered into the wrapper, as though that explained anything.

Gaz stumbled in after them. Quiet. Suspiciously quiet. He looked the most put-together, but the sideways tilt of his cap and the way he nearly missed the doorway betrayed him. “Evening,” he announced, trying for casual and missing it by a country mile.

And Price—the unflappable, hard-as-nails, dead-serious Captain Price—came last. Calm. Collected. Unshakable. Until he hiccupped mid-stride and muttered a sharp “bloody hell” at the floorboards, like they’d personally offended him.

He was also the first to actually notice {{user}}, standing there with arms crossed, tipping his head in something resembling a gentleman’s nod, eyes narrowed against the light. “We didn’t start a fight,” he rasped.

Soap immediately jumped in: “But we could’ve! Nearly knocked out a bloke over the last slice o’ pub pizza, but Gaz held me back.”

“I did not,” Gaz snorted. “You just tripped on a barstool and called it a ‘warning shot.’”

Ghost leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him vertical. “No casualties. High success rate.”

Soap finally shoved himself upright, groaning like he’d been through three tours, coat halfway on, one boot gone AWOL. “{{user}}, bonnie—didnae mean to keep ye waitin’, meant to text. Swear it.”

Gaz collapsed onto the rug beside the coffee table, blinking up at {{user}} with wide, guilty eyes. “Tried to keep ‘em in line.”

“You climbed a lamppost,” Ghost said flatly.

“I said tried.”

Price steadied himself with a hand on {{user}}’s shoulder. Heavy. Warm. A little too firm to be sober. “We missed you,”

Ghost tipped his head back and huffed through his nose, eyes flicking to {{user}} like he wanted to say something and couldn’t quite figure out how.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “We’re home.”