Task Force 141 | A Candle Lit for No One
AnyPOV | Angst | 141 User | Poly141 | Established Relationship
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Requested by Anonymous
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For months, you have felt like a ghost in your own relationship. You are loved by the men of Task Force 141—Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz—but you are never considered. You are an afterthought wrapped in affection; the one left behind to handle base logistics while they share an unspoken, effortless bond. Tonight is your birthday, a day you quietly hoped might change things. Instead, after a brutal six-hour shift in the armory, you discover the boys have eaten the birthday cake you ordered without saving you a single slice. To make the sting worse, they immediately leave for the local pub, leaving you behind in the dark to lock up the armory alone.
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The 141 had always been a tight-knit group. They possessed an almost instinctual awareness of one another, a quiet choreography of care that ran deep beneath the surface of their rugged exteriors. Kyle always held the heavy doors open, shifting his weight to shield the next man from the wind. Simon remembered exactly how everyone took their tea, down to the precise number of sugar cubes. Price ensured the common room was warm and comfortable before movie nights, and Johnny was constantly bringing back games or trinkets he knew would make the others laugh.
You were loved. Absolutely. Unconditionally, even.
But you weren't *considered*.
It was a slow, exhausting realization that had chipped away at you for months. You were an afterthought wrapped in affection. Your name could be scrawled on a neon sign in the fridge, bleeding bright ink over your leftovers, and they would still vanish without a second thought. Invites to the mess hall came after they were already seated. Shared jokes went entirely over your head because you were never there for the punchline, and no one ever paused to fill you in. You were a ghost in your own relationship.
Today was your birthday. Another year older, another year with your polycule, and the one day you had desperately hoped things might be different.
You had just finished a grueling, six-hour inventory shift in the armory. Your hands were stained with graphite and gun oil, your back ached, but a small, stubborn spark of excitement kept you moving. You had ordered a cake. A real one, from the bakery outside the base. You couldn't wait to finally sit down, blow out the candles, and feel like you belonged.
A sharp knock shattered the quiet, jolting you out of your thoughts.
"Price needs you to work on next week's rotation schedule and the rations order," Simon said. He stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking out the warm light from the hallway. He didn't look at your face; his eyes were fixed on the clipboard in his hand.
"Aye! And when yer done, there's cake in the kitchen!" Johnny’s head popped over Simon’s shoulder, a bright, childlike grin on his face. He looked happy. They all looked happy.
From somewhere further down the hall, Kyle’s muffled voice echoed back, casual and entirely unbothered. "There isn't any more cake, mate. We ate it all."
The words didn't just hurt; they hollowed you out. The spark in your chest died instantly, leaving behind a cold, heavy ash. The cake you had ordered—the one you paid for, the one meant to celebrate your existence—was gone. They hadn't waited for you. They hadn't saved you a slice. They had sat together, laughing and sharing a sweet treat, completely blind to the empty chair at the table.
You opened your mouth to speak, to say *anything*, but the words choked in your throat. Your chest tightened so fiercely it stole your breath.
"Right. Lights out at 1900," Ghost muttered, checking his watch. He didn't notice the way your shoulders slumped, or how your hands trembled against the cold metal of the desk. He just turned on his heel.
"Come on, Lt.! If we hurry, we can make last call at the pub down the road," Johnny’s voice trailed after him, full of easy excitement. "Price is already getting the keys to the truck."
"Kyle! Wrap up whatever you're doing, we're leaving in five!" Price’s booming, cheerful voice echoed down the corridor, followed by the heavy thud of his boots and the familiar jingle of truck keys.
"Already ahead of you, Captain! Just grabbing my jacket!" Kyle called back, his footsteps jogging down the hall to meet the others.
They were going out. The whole unit. Your polycule.
Ghost paused for a fraction of a second in the doorway, his masked face turning back toward the dim armory. For a fleeting, agonizing moment, you thought he might finally look at you. You thought he might ask you to come along.
"Don't forget to lock up when you're finished with those schedules," Ghost said quietly, his voice flat. "See you in the morning."
He didn't wait for a reply. He just turned and walked away, his heavy boots clicking against the concrete floor as he moved to join the others.
You sat frozen as the distant front doors of the barracks slammed shut, cutting off the rowdy, warm chatter of the men you loved. A moment later, the low rumble of the truck’s engine turned over in the courtyard, rattling the glass of the high armory windows. You watched the sweeping glare of the headlights cut through the dark room as the truck pulled out of the gates, disappearing into the night.
The door to the armory stayed cracked, letting in nothing but the cold draft of the empty hallway. And you just sat there in the silence, entirely forgotten on the day you were born.
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Created Jun 9
Updated Jun 9
Published Jun 9