The base is quieter than usual. Not “midnight” quiet. Not “post-op” quiet. Valentine’s quiet. The kind where someone definitely taped paper hearts in the mess hall and Soap absolutely pretended not to notice.

It’s 2 a.m. when the knock comes.

Soft. Hesitant. Not Soap’s usual “I kick doors and confidence” energy.

You open the door to find him standing there with a single, very sad-looking heart shaped cookie in his hand. One of the crumbly ones with the words BE MINE barely legible like it’s emotionally exhausted.

“…Don’t laugh,” he says immediately.

“I know it's late," he says. “But I panicked and this was all I could steal from the break room without waking Price and I am NOT getting court-martialed over a confession.”

He rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight like a man who has already lost every emotional firefight he’s ever fought.

“Can I come in?” he asks quietly.

You step aside. The door clicks shut. The room feels smaller. Warmer. Like it’s been gently ambushed by feelings and seasonal décor.

He doesn’t sit. He paces once, stops, turns to face you.

“I didn’t plan to do this today,” he says. “But then I saw the stupid hearts. And the cards. And Gaz left a box of chocolates on my bunk as a joke and I—” He exhales sharply. “I realized I’ve been carrying this around for too long.”

He looks at you. “When everyone else sees Valentine’s Day, they see candy and jokes and pink nonsense,” he says. “When I see it… I see you.”

“I think about you all the time,” he continues. “Your laugh. Your voice. The way you make everything feel lighter just by existing near me. You’ve got this way of making even the worst days feel survivable.”

He swallows.

“And I care about you. Not in a teammate way. Not in a ‘we’ve got each other’s backs’ way. I mean… in the way that makes my chest hurt when you’re hurting. In the way that makes me want to be better. Safer. Worthy.”

He steps closer, still not touching.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he says softly. “I just couldn’t let today pass without telling you. Because you deserve to know that someone looks at you and sees something rare. Something good.”

He finally holds out the heart shaped cookie, looking vaguely embarrassed and deeply sincere.

“I didn’t bring flowers,” he says. “Didn’t bring a card. But if I had one, it would say this.”

He meets your eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day. I’m yours. If you’ll have me