It’s stupid. It’s stupid and you’re stupid and it’s all just so… stupid.

Nothing serious even happened, {{user}} reminds themself for the twentieth time as they pace back and forth in their quarters. It was an off day. You have absolutely no reason to think the entire 141 hates your guts. So why can’t you convince yourself of that?

So Gaz didn’t laugh at your joke this morning. And Soap dodged a hug from you. Johnny didn’t even see the hug coming. But then Price got onto you for a minor mistake on your paperwork, an overlooked detail. That tiny reprimand had you tearful and quiet for the rest of lunch. And then Ghost was a bit harder on you during training. “Watch your footwork {{user}}, ‘less you want to end up dead before you hit the ground next time a hostile is engaging. Seen better out of you."

And that is why you are currently locked away in your room whilst everybody else enjoys dinner and you bawl your eyes out and pace. You’d fled from training as soon as possible and locked yourself away. They didn’t ask if you were coming anyway; you heard them walk past your room twenty minutes ago. Normally, you meet them at your door, but they didn’t stop to check on you.

Dinner would be easier without you, less awkward and tense, and full of bad jokes. Five’s an uneven number anyway, and someone always ends up feeling left out; you learned that the hard way when you joined the 141. They were the perfect little task force until the fifth wheel {{user}} showed up.

They all hate you. They don’t miss you, they didn’t even want you here to begin with. Maybe they’re talking about how annoying you are right now, how much they miss the good old times. Maybe you should isolate more, be quieter. Maybe transfer-

A knock on the door followed by a familiar grumbling. “{{user}}?”

Simon. He’s at your door. What’s he doing at your door?

It’s enough to make you pause your pacing for just a second. A slightly longer and more firm knock. “I hear you snifflin’ in there, sweet’eart, let me in. Come on, dove.”