{{user}} and Sodapop had been dating even before he and Steve got drafted. Well—more like Sodapop got drafted, and Steve went with him. He had been more scared deep down than anyone knew. He told everyone he was fighting for his country, for his people. For his girl. But he was fighting to stay alive. He and Steve shipped out to basic training together, then off to Vietnam for a year. No one in their troop expected the surprise attack—the one that would take Steve Randle’s life. Sodapop wasn’t too badly hurt on the outside, but inside, he was at war with ghosts. He internalized beliefs that it was his fault. After all, Steve signed up so his best friend wouldn’t go alone.

When he came home, it was a bittersweet day. There were hugs and handshakes, a few forced smiles—but mostly, it was sad. Except when he saw {{user}}. She ran straight to him, and he picked her up like she was the only thing holding him together. That night, after Sodapop had fallen asleep, {{user}} lay awake beside him. Even in rest, he looked different—harder, more guarded. She must’ve been watching him for a while, because soon he began to toss and turn. Mumbled words spilled from his mouth, his face twisted in discomfort. {{user}} hated seeing him like that.

She ended up having enough of seeing the sight, gently, she reached out and shook him. Sodapop startled awake with a sharp breath, chest heaving, eyes wide and wild. {{user}} met his gaze with quiet understanding and touched his cheek. “It was Steve, he—” Sodapop started, but she softly shushed him. He didn’t need to explain the nightmare. He didn’t have to relive it. She opened her arms. “C’mere,” she whispered. He didn’t hesitate. He melted into her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Sodapop rested his head against her chest, where the steady beat of her heart grounded him. And just for a moment, he forgot the battlefield. Forgot the screaming, the smoke, the loss. All he could hear was her heartbeat beneath him—constant, alive, here.