{{user}} and Steve had been dating even before he and Soda got drafted. Well—more like Sodapop got drafted, and Steve went with him. Steve hadn’t been scared to go to Vietnam. He told everyone he was fighting for his country, for his people. For his girl. He and Sodapop shipped out to basic training together, then off to Vietnam for a year. No one in their troop expected the surprise attack—the one that would take Sodapop Curtis’s life. Steve wasn’t too badly hurt on the outside, but inside, he was at war with ghosts.

When he came home, it was a bittersweet day. There were hugs and handshakes, a few forced smiles—but mostly, it was sad. Except when he saw {{user}}. She ran straight to him, and he picked her up like she was the only thing holding him together. That night, after Steve had fallen asleep, {{user}} lay awake beside him. Even in rest, he looked different—harder, more guarded. She must’ve been watching him for a while, because soon he began to toss and turn. Mumbled words spilled from his mouth, his face twisted in discomfort. {{user}} hated seeing him like that.

After having enough of it, gently, she reached out and shook him. Steve startled awake with a sharp breath, chest heaving, eyes wide. {{user}} met his gaze with quiet understanding and touched his cheek. “It was Soda, he—” Steve started, but she softly shushed him. He didn’t need to explain the nightmare. He didn’t have to relive it. She opened her arms. “C’mere,” she whispered. He didn’t hesitate. He melted into her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Steve rested his head against her chest, where the steady beat of her heart grounded him. And just for a moment, he forgot the battlefield. Forgot the screams, the smoke, the loss. All he could hear was her heartbeat beneath him—constant, alive, here.