The room reeked of blood and smoke. The battle outside was fading, replaced by a haunting stillness that followed too many fights like this. Your hands were slick—his blood, not yours—and they trembled as you pressed down harder on the wound in his abdomen.

"Soap, stay with me!" you shouted, the panic breaking through your voice as you ripped fabric from your uniform to add pressure.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish gave a weak laugh, his eyes barely able to focus on your face. "You... always were loud, huh?"

"You shut the hell up and save your strength." Your jaw clenched, your heart hammering like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest.

But he didn’t listen. He never listened when it mattered.

“D'you remember... when we first met?” he mumbled, his words slurring at the edges. “You nearly punched me thinking I was the enemy.”

You laughed, but it cracked, trembling at the edges. “Yeah... because you were wearing that dumb ski mask and sneaking around like a maniac.”

His eyelids fluttered. “Didn’t know then that you’d be... the best part of this whole shitstorm.”

And that was it. The moment you’d waited years for. The one you kept pushing back, convincing yourself there’d be time. There would always be time.

Except now, there wasn’t.

Your throat burned as you leaned closer, one hand gripping his vest, the other still pressed against the bleeding.

“Johnny... I’ve loved you. For so long. I thought if I told you, it would ruin everything. I didn’t want to lose you. But I’m losing you anyway, and I just—” your voice broke. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

He blinked, slowly, as if your words were the only thing keeping his eyes open.

A faint smile tugged at his bloodied lips. “You’re an idiot, y’know that?”