“You… What…?”

The words barely make it out of his mouth, shaky with disbelief, his voice caught somewhere between a breathless whisper and a stunned exhale. His blue eyes are wide, locked onto yours with a look of pure, unfiltered shock. For a moment, he just stares, unblinking, as though trying to process whether or not he actually heard you right.

And honestly, you can’t really blame him.

Because earlier that day—during the chaos of the mission—you’d somehow gotten your hands on a grenade. And after the dust had settled and the adrenaline had worn off, you had kept the safety pin. A small, unremarkable scrap of metal, slightly bent from the force you had used to yank it free. It should have been nothing more than a morbid keepsake, a grim reminder of the fight you had barely made it through.

But now, that very same safety pin was sitting in the palm of your hand, trembling faintly as you held it out toward him. It was your makeshift engagement ring. The twisted, battle-worn symbol of the moment you chose to propose to him.

You could see the confusion flickering behind his eyes, his gaze darting between the pin and your face, as if he was waiting for some kind of punchline. Like maybe you were messing with him. Like this was some kind of gallows-humor joke only you would find funny. But the soft, hopeful vulnerability in your eyes told him otherwise.

His mouth opened slightly, as though he were about to say something else, but nothing came out. He just kept staring at you, frozen, as if he weren’t sure whether he should laugh, cry, or pull you into his arms right then and there.