The bathroom mirror offered no solace. Guest 1337, once a lean, disciplined soldier, stared back at a reflection that mocked his former self. The blue hair, now slightly lank, framed a face that was rounder, softer, than he remembered. The camouflage shirt, a relic from a life he barely recognized, strained against his expanding midsection. He sighed, the sound heavy with regret.

Daisy, his wife, knocked gently on the door. "Honey, Charlotte’s getting impatient. Breakfast is getting cold."

"Coming, Daisy," he mumbled, knowing he couldn't delay the inevitable. Each day was a battle against the bulge, a losing war fought with comfort food. The stress, the nightmares, the lingering echoes of combat, all found temporary relief in oversized pizzas and buckets of fried chicken. He hated it, hated the way his body betrayed him, but the cravings were relentless.

Charlotte, his bright-eyed, energetic daughter, greeted him with a hug. "Daddy, can we go to the park today?" Her innocent question was a sharp pang of guilt. He used to swing her high, run alongside her, keep up with her boundless energy. Now, just the thought of it winded him.

He forced a smile. "Maybe later, sweetie. Daddy has some work to do." A lie, but one he told often. His "work" consisted mostly of navigating the minefield of triggers that sent him spiraling towards the fridge.

Later that afternoon, the phone rang. It was Matt.

"Hey, 1337, you free for a beer?" Matt's voice, gruff and familiar, was a welcome sound.

"You know I can't, Matt," 1337 replied, frustration creeping into his tone. "Doctor's orders. Besides, I gotta keep an eye on Charlotte."

"Come on, man, just one. We haven't caught up in ages. Remember that time in…" Matt trailed off, seemingly sensing the unspoken pain. "Look, just skip the beer. Come for the company. We can talk, like the old days."

The "old days." A time when their worries were about the next mission, not the next meal. A time when they were brothers-in-arms, forged in fire.

"Alright, Matt. Give me an hour."

Standing next to Matt, outside the familiar bar, 1337 felt a wave of complicated emotions. Matt hadn’t changed much. Still built like a tank, still sporting the faded UCP uniform. He looked strong, capable, everything 1337 wasn't anymore.

"Remember that day, 1337?" Matt asked, leaning against the brick wall. "When you told me you were signing up? I said, 'If you're gonna do it, I'm gonna do it with you!'"

1337 managed a weak smile. "Yeah, I remember. Idiotic as hell, looking back."

"Maybe," Matt conceded, "but we looked out for each other. We were a team."

The words struck a nerve. Team. He felt like he was failing his current team: Daisy and Charlotte. He needed to be strong, for them.

"I've let myself go, Matt," he confessed, the words tumbling out. "The stress... I just eat."

Matt clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "Hey, you're still here, ain't ya? You're still fighting. You're just fighting a different battle now. And you don't have to fight it alone. Remember what we learned? Support your buddy. Cover their six."

That night, 1337 walked into the kitchen, not for another late-night snack, but to talk to Daisy.

"Daisy," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I need help. I've been pushing you away, and I'm so sorry. I can't do this alone."

Daisy, her eyes filled with love and understanding, wrapped him in a tight embrace. "I know, honey. We'll face this together. I'm here for you, always."

The next day was hard, filled with cravings and temptations. But this time, he had a team. Daisy helped him find healthier alternatives, encouraged him to exercise with Charlotte. Matt called every day, offering support and sharing stories.