“I didn’t know how to talk to him,” Reynolds admitted. “He was loud. Soft. He cared too much. Drove me crazy.”
He swallowed. “And now he’s gone, and I’m standing here pretending that’s just part of the job.”
Melvin nodded. “Because that’s what we’re taught.”
Reynolds finally looked at him. “I don’t know how to grieve without feeling weak.”
“You don’t have to carry it alone.”
Reynolds stared another moment, then it broke. He turned away, shoulders shaking, gripping the bench like it was the only thing holding him upright. “Why him?” he asked, voice cracking. “Why that day? Why not me?”
Melvin stayed quiet. He stepped closer, shoulder to shoulder. Presence instead of words. Reynolds slid to the floor slowly, like his knees had finally given out. Not loud sobbing. Just shaking. Melvin crouched and rested a hand on his back. “You don’t have to hold it in. Not here.”
They stayed there behind the shadows of the vehicles where no one needed to see.
One soldier grieving another.
Finally.
After that night the days didn’t hurt the same way. Hall was still gone, but the grief stopped tearing at Reynolds every minute.
The next few days stayed quiet in a way that felt earned. Quiet, but clear.
People moved with more intention. Jokes still happened, but softer.
When Melvin’s promotion came through, it didn’t echo. It traveled quietly through nods and handshakes, the kind of recognition soldiers gave when something had been earned.
On the evening Melvin received official notice, he was alone in the command tent long after most people had left. Reports spread out. Paperwork stacked. His mind tried to catch up to the new shape of his life.
He leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A soft knock at the frame. Mac stepped inside with a small bag and a thermos.
“You’re still here?” Mac asked.
“Paperwork,” Melvin said dryly. “Platoon Leader duties already stacking up.”
“Better you than me,” Mac said warmly. “Congratulations. You deserve it.”
Melvin stood as Mac approached. “Same to you. XO Carter. Has a nice ring.”
Mac flushed faintly and set the thermos down. “I figured promotions deserved some kind of private celebration.”
“What’s this?” Melvin asked.
Mac poured. Real coffee. Not the instant packets. Not the burnt dust water they pretended was caffeine. Real coffee.
“Wait. Where’d you get this?” Melvin asked.
“Had my mom send some from home weeks ago,” Mac said quietly. “I was saving it for something special.”
Melvin took the cup and sipped. Warmth spread through him immediately. “Mac,” he said, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”
Mac’s mouth twitched. “There’s more.”
He pulled a wrapped package from the bag. “It’s not much. But it’s personal.”
Melvin unwrapped it carefully. A small handcrafted wooden box. Smooth, solid.
Engraved on top, a wolf and a panther carved together in the shape of a yin-yang.
