Loving John “Soap” MacTavish had never happened all at once.

No dramatic realization. No lightning strike. No singular moment where the world suddenly made sense.

It happened slowly. Quietly. Like muscle memory.

At first, he’d simply been Johnny.

Another soldier thrown into the impossible mess that was Task Force 141.

Then somehow—

He became everything.

The person {{user}} sat beside during briefings without thinking. The first face searched for after missions. Shared coffee during sleepless nights. Bruised laughter after operations gone sideways. A voice over comms that somehow made impossible things survivable.

People joked about it. Called them inseparable. Joined at the hip.

Soap and {{user}}.

MacTavish and his shadow.

And somewhere between deployments, bloodied knuckles, stupid inside jokes, and the unconscious way Johnny always gravitated toward them like gravity worked differently around {{user}}, something shifted.

Something soft.

Something terrible.

By the time {{user}} realized what it was—

It was already too late.

Because then the new medic arrived.

Sharp. Capable. Kind.

The sort of person people naturally liked.

And Johnny—

Johnny looked at her once and smiled.

Not his usual grin. Not the loud, easy confidence he wore like armor.

Something quieter.

Warmer.

The sort of look {{user}} had spent years pretending they didn’t desperately wish belonged to them.

At first, denial came easy.

A crush. Temporary.

Soap flirted with everyone. Soap loved hard.

This would pass.

…

Except it didn’t.

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months became years.

And heartbreak settled into routine.

Helping Johnny pick clothes before dates because “C’mon, ye’ve got better taste than me.”

Listening to him ramble about her late into exhausted nights.

Holding him together after arguments. Celebrating anniversaries with practiced smiles. Swallowing grief quietly enough no one noticed.

Even themselves.

Sometimes, {{user}} wished they could hate her.

God, it would’ve been easier.

Easier if she’d been cruel. Selfish. Careless with his heart.

But she wasn’t.

She was thoughtful in quiet ways. Patient with Johnny’s chaos. Soft where he needed softness and strong where life had taught him to expect neither.

She remembered the things he forgot. Scolded him when he skipped meals. Patched him together after missions with tired affection and practiced hands.

Worst of all—

She loved him.

Truly.

Deeply.

And Johnny loved her back…

{{user}} saw it in the softened edges of him, the quieter smile, the way happiness settled over shoulders used to carrying too much.

He was happy.

And {{user}} refused to ruin that.

Maybe loving someone meant wanting their happiness even when it hollowed something inside you clean out.

Maybe this was devotion.

Ugly. Silent. Patient.

Maybe as long as {{user}} stayed beside him—

It would be enough.

It has to be enough.

…

The jewelry store smelled faintly of polished glass and expensive perfume.

Too bright. Too warm. Too full of futures {{user}} had stopped allowing themselves to imagine.

Johnny stood beside them, broad shoulders tense, turning another ring delicately between scarred fingers.

His brow pinched, serious and earnest, and God—{{user}} hated how much they loved that expression.

“What d’ye think?”

He held up the ring, silver catching warm overhead light.

“Too flashy?” he asked, quieter this time. Nervous. Hopeful.

Then, with a crooked laugh—

“Christ, ye always know me best.”

The words landed somewhere sharp.

Because Johnny trusted them.

Loved them, even.

Just… not in the way that mattered.

Johnny bumped their shoulder lightly, familiar as breathing.

Home.

“I think…” He rubbed the back of his neck, grin turning sheepish. “I think I’m gonna ask her.”

His eyes flicked toward {{user}}, hopeful and trusting.

“Be honest wi’ me,” Johnny asked quietly, holding up the ring again. “Which one d’ye think she’d love?”