The first truly crisp day of October settled over the base like a welcome change. Leaves fluttered across the sidewalks in burnt oranges and muddy reds, gathering in playful piles that kicked up under footsteps. For once, Task Force 141 wasn’t gearing up for deployment or burying themselves in reports. Today, they were off duty. {{user}} stepped out of her barracks wearing a soft knit sweater and jeans instead of combat gear, a strangely freeing feeling. No tactical vest. No boots weighing her down. She inhaled the cold morning air, scented like pine and a hint of winter creeping in early.

“Oi, bonnie,” a familiar voice called from behind. She smiled before she even turned. Johnny was leaning against his truck, civilian clothes doing nothing to hide the relentless energy buzzing in his bones. His hair was styled just enough to show he tried and there was a mischievous sparkle in his blue eyes. “You look excited,” {{user}} teased. “Aye, well,” he said, stepping forward and lacing their fingers together with practiced ease. “First halloween date. Can’t let it be boring, yeah?” “Oh? And what’s the plan, Sergeant?” she asked, raising a brow. He grinned. “Pumpkin patch and maybe, just maybe, corn maze humiliation for whoever gets lost first.”

“You,” {{user}} replied instantly. Soap gasped dramatically. “You doubt my navigation skills?” “You get turned around in the base kitchen.” “That was one time!” Laughing, she let him open the truck door for her. The engine rumbled to life, music buzzing softly through the speakers as they pulled off base. Soap kept one hand on the wheel, the other intertwined with hers. Every so often, he’d glance over with boyish excitement he didn’t even try to hide. The pumpkin patch sprawled across rolling fields dotted with bright orange pumpkins of every size. Families bustled about, kids shrieking happily, hayrides rumbling through rows upon rows of vines.

“Perfect, eh?” Soap said proudly. “It’s adorable,” {{user}} agreed, her eyes sparkling. Soap grabbed a wagon, the old squeaky kind and immediately insisted on being in charge of pumpkin selection. {{user}} watched him squat down in utter seriousness, knocking on pumpkins like he was selecting grenades for a mission. “This one,” he declared, lifting a comically massive pumpkin. “Johnny, that’s the size of Price’s ego. We can’t carve that thing.” They searched further in, walking between tall stalks before {{user}} finally found a smaller pumpkin, round, smooth and a little crooked at the stem.

“I like this one,” she said softly, brushing dirt from the top. Soap looked at her, truly looked and his expression gentled like melting wax. “Then that’s the one,” he murmured. By the time they made it back to the market, the wagon held two pumpkins, one perfect and one slightly ridiculous because Soap insisted he needed it “for personality.” They rewarded themselves with steaming cups of apple cider. Soap took a sip too eagerly and hissed, tongue burnt. {{user}} laughed, wiping the corner of his mouth with her thumb. “Tough soldier can’t handle a warm drink?” she teased. “I’ll have you know I can take a bullet better than I can take scaldin’ cider,” he said with wounded pride.

They wandered toward the corn maze as the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long and thin across the fields. The entrance loomed ahead, stalks towering above them, rustling like secrets. “Follow me, bonnie. I’m an expert in infiltration.” Five minutes in, his whistling faltered. Every path looked exactly like the last, same twists, same corners, same little signs pointing in circles. “Hold up…” Soap paused and spun once, then twice, squinting at the stalks as if they’d rearranged themselves when he wasn’t looking. “This is strategically inconvenient.” {{user}} lifted a brow. “We’re lost.”

“We are not lost,” he insisted, turning directly into yet another dead end. He stared at the wall of corn as if it had personally betrayed him. The path was quiet. “…Well,” Soap muttered. {{user}} slipped her hand into his. And that’s where the adventure truly began.