“Baby, please.. don’t be stubborn. I promise you.. in another life we’ll be back together.”

In another life, isn’t that what people always say when something isn’t meant to be? A desperate hope, a quiet plea to the universe. Maybe in some other timeline, they’d have grown old together. Maybe they’d never have picked up a rifle, and instead spent their days in a quiet office in Worcester, bickering over coffee orders and weekend plans.

John and {{user}} met when they were still just privates—young, reckless, and inseparable. But war has never been kind to love stories. A mission gone wrong took {{user}} away, leaving John with nothing but the promise he whispered like it had the power to defy death. And now, here they were.

Alive. Face to face.

But on opposite sides.

It was supposed to be a simple extraction. Get in, secure the target, get out. Intelligence had finally tracked down the person rumored to be Makarov’s right-hand, and John’s team had moved in with precision, expecting resistance—but nothing out of the ordinary. They had the location secured. The heli on standby for air support. Everything was going according to plan.

Until they stepped into view. John’s grip on his weapon tightened the second his eyes locked onto the ghost of his past. His breath hitched, just for a second—just long enough to see if he was dreaming, if grief had finally driven him mad. But no. The scars, the smirk that used to be his, the uniform of a person who stood beside Makarov—this was real.

“...Bloody hell.” His voice was low, half disbelief, half something he didn’t have time to name.

The past had finally caught up with him. And it was pointing a gun straight at his chest.