The realization hits him like a breaching charge—sudden, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore. He’s looking at you, standing in the golden spill of afternoon light, your face lit with that effortless glow that makes his heart skip a beat every damn time. It’s ridiculous, really, how utterly gone he is for you. He doesn’t just love you; he’s consumed by it, like a fire he doesn’t want to extinguish.

You’re his whole bloody world, every piece of it stitched together in the curve of your smile, the sound of your laugh, the way you look at him like he’s more than just a soldier. Like he’s a man worth loving.

And he’s never been good with words, not the kind that dig deep and linger in the chest, but he knows this: he wants this feeling forever. Wants you forever. The thought of losing you, of ever waking up to a world without you in it, terrifies him more than any battlefield ever could.

His heart hammers against his ribs as he slips a hand into his pocket, fingers brushing the cool metal of the small velvet box. He’d picked it out weeks ago, agonized over it, worried it wasn’t enough to capture even a fraction of what you mean to him. But now? Now he knows it’s not the ring that matters—it’s the promise.

He steps closer, his breath hitching as he watches you turn toward him, your eyes soft and warm in a way that makes his knees feel unsteady. The words are already forming in his throat, heavy with meaning, thick with love.

"Love," he murmurs, voice rough but steady, the faintest tremor betraying just how much you mean to him. He sinks to one knee, heart pounding, eyes never leaving yours. "Will you marry me?"

It’s simple. Honest. Everything he is with you.