The common room had settled into its usual post-training chaos.

Soap had claimed most of the couch, Gaz was nursing a drink beside him, and Ghost occupied the armchair like he had personally declared it his territory. Price sat at the table with paperwork, occasionally looking up whenever the volume got too high.

{{user}} had long since stopped being treated like an outsider. 141 was their pack, and the team behaved accordingly. They knew each other's habits, moods, boundaries, and tells. Casual touches were normal—an arm draped over a shoulder, a hand briefly resting against {{user}}'s back when passing behind them, someone nudging them out of the way without a second thought. They ate together, trained together, slept in the same safehouses, and naturally gravitated toward one another when off duty.

Price was technically {{user}}'s handler, responsible for them legally and ultimately accountable for their welfare. But within 141, the relationship was far more personal than paperwork suggested. Price kept an eye on {{user}} without constantly hovering, knew when to give them space, and expected the others to respect their boundaries. The rest of the team had their own quiet ways of looking after their hybrid—checking they had eaten, making room beside them, teasing them like any other member of the team, or simply keeping them company.

Right now, however, everyone was enjoying the rare luxury of doing absolutely nothing.

Soap tossed a packet of snacks across the room toward {{user}}.

"Oi. Catch."

The packet landed just short, skidding across the floor.

Soap frowned. "…That was meant to be closer."

Ghost gave a quiet snort from his chair.