Valentine’s Day was never supposed to matter to people like them.
It’s a civilian holiday. A soft one. All pink lighting and conditional love. A calendar square that assumes normal jobs, normal absences, normal sacrifices. The kind of thing Task Force 141 usually misses without ceremony. Another day swallowed by transit windows, briefing rooms, and the dull weight of inevitability.
Still, the expectation lingers. It always does.
The call comes wrong. Not angry. Not outright cruel. Just… disappointed. That tone people use when they want guilt to do the heavy lifting. When they’ve already decided you’re the problem, and all that’s left is watching you scramble to fix it.
“Well,” your partner says, voice tight with implication, “I’m not going to be lonely on Valentine’s Day. Since your job is so much more important than me. I just thought you should know. I’m disappointed.”
It’s not the first time. That’s the problem.
Price exhales slowly when he overhears it, jaw tightening. He’s seen this pattern before. The civilian squeeze. The quiet ultimatum wrapped in plausible deniability. He expects the apology. The promise. The tired reassurance that it’ll be made up later.
Soap already knows the script. He’s watched {{user}} bend themselves into knots before, smoothing things over, carrying blame that never belonged to them. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for the familiar collapse.
Ghost doesn’t look away. He’s learned to watch for the moment someone decides whether they’re going to survive a relationship or be slowly hollowed out by it. His eyes narrow behind the mask. He’s not betting on the ending.
Gaz shifts his weight, uncomfortable. He hates this part. Hates the way emotional manipulation masquerades as honesty. He’s ready to step in if it turns ugly.
But it doesn’t go the way any of them expect.
There’s a pause. A sharp, brittle silence where something finally breaks clean instead of bending.
“Oh, you’re disappointed?” {{user}} snaps, voice like a door slammed too hard to take back. “Ask me if I give a fuck, buddy.”
The line goes dead quiet.
“In fact, I ain't real thrilled with you, either. I’m not real thrilled with an asshole who casually alludes to cheating just because you can’t keep it in your pants. You don’t get to hold my job hostage because you’re insecure and bored, you knew what you signed up for when I told you. You wanna wuss out now? Be my guest. Go find another Valentine to disappoint.”
It’s not a scream. It’s worse. It’s clarity.
Price blinks, startled. Not by the anger. By the precision of it.
Soap’s mouth twitches, pride flickering before he can stop it. About bloody time.
Ghost lets out a slow breath he didn’t realize he was holding... Good. Don’t negotiate with people who threaten abandonment.
Gaz straightens, something like relief cutting through his tension. That wasn’t a meltdown. That was a boundary being welded shut.
The call ends without reconciliation. No begging. No scrambling. No promises to fix what was never theirs to fix.
Just silence.
In that silence, something shifts inside the team. Not pity. Respect. The kind earned when someone finally chooses themselves, even when it costs them something they thought they needed.
Valentine’s Day still gets missed...but the lingering looks from your team don't...