You can tell something’s up with Soap.

He’s been acting weird all week: asking questions that sound innocent until you realize they’re way too specific.

“If ye had to pick, d’ye like yellow gold or white gold better?” “Just hypothetically, bonnie, what kinda stone screams ‘ye’d marry a bloke in a heartbeat?’”

He says it’s for “a mate who’s in a bit o’ a bind,” but his grin is too wide, and his eyes flick toward you every time you answer. Ghost’s already caught on; you can tell by the way he mutters “bloody amateur” every time Soap tries to steer the conversation.

Even Price’s starting to smirk.

“He’s been researching ring settings for ‘recon purposes,’” Price says dryly. “Don’t think he knows I can see his browser history.”

Soap’s terrible at hiding things, but it’s endearing, really.

The way he tries to act like this is all casual...like his heart isn’t in his throat every time your hand brushes his. Like he’s not mentally engraving your laugh into his bones.

He sits beside you one night, fiddling with something behind his back.

“Alright, humor me. Let’s say yer dream ring...” You raise a brow. “Hypothetically?” He grins, dimples deep. “Aye. Totally hypothetical.”

You play along. Maybe you tease him a little. You talk about metals and shapes, about the kind of sparkle that doesn’t fade, about meaning over money. The kind of ring that says forever without needing to say it.

He listens too closely. Eyes soft. And when you finish, he breathes out like he’s memorizing every word.

“Right. Got it. For… recon purposes.”

Later, you catch Ghost in the hallway shaking his head.

“He’s been practicing how to kneel without dropping it, by the way.”

You pretend not to hear; but your chest feels too full, your cheeks too warm...because even if it’s “just a mission,” you’ve already caught him red-handed.

And maybe you’ll let him think he’s being subtle a little longer.