Valentine’s Day wasn’t exactly high on Merrick’s list of priorities. Romance took a backseat to survival, and yet, somehow, he still managed to surprise you.

The shooting range wasn’t the most conventional date spot, but it was your kind of normal. The scent of gunpowder, the steady rhythm of gunfire, the comfortable silence between you, it all felt right. Merrick stood beside you, arms crossed, watching as you lined up your shot.

“Steady,” he murmured, his voice low and familiar. You fired, the bullet striking just outside the bullseye. Not bad, but not perfect.

You huffed, lowering your weapon, only to notice Merrick slipping something from his pocket. A small, worn box.

“Thought you’d like something useful,” he said, handing it over.

Inside, a single dog tag gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Your name, his name, engraved together.

You swallowed, fingers brushing over the cool metal. A soldier’s way of saying: You matter. You’re mine.

Merrick watched you, unreadable as always, but there was something softer in his stance. “Didn’t see the point in waiting,” he admitted.

A slow smile tugged at your lips as you slipped the chain over your head, letting it settle against your chest.

Merrick gave a satisfied nod, then smirked. “Now quit getting sentimental. I still plan on winning this round.”