The lake is calm tonight, its surface a glassy mirror reflecting the soft hues of the setting sun. A breeze stirs the water, cool against your skin, but it does nothing to quiet the pounding in your chest. The picnic blanket is laid out neatly, the food carefully chosen—things you know he likes, details you’ve picked up over years of watching, of waiting, of hoping.

Soap sits across from you, relaxed as ever, laughter in his eyes as he recounts a ridiculous mission story. You laugh too, but it’s tight, forced. Your hands are clenched in your lap, hidden beneath the fabric of your jacket. The small box inside your pocket weighs heavier than it should—a tiny, simple thing, nothing extravagant, just a token of what you feel.

This is it. This is the moment.

You clear your throat, shifting on the blanket. “Johnny,” you begin, using his name softer than usual, letting it carry something more. “I, uh.. You always go all out for the people you care about, and I figured… I’d try to do the same.”

He blinks at you, curiosity flickering in his blue eyes. You swallow hard, fingers curling around the small box. You finally pull it out, opening it between you. It’s nothing grand—just something personal, something you hoped he’d keep, something that might make him think of you when he held it.

“I like you,” you exhale, the words fragile in the open air. “I have for a long time. I thought maybe—maybe if I showed you, if I did something like this, you’d— be my valentine. Its silly—”

The silence cuts like a blade. His expression shifts—his smile falters, and his gaze drops to the box, then back to you. A deep breath, a slow exhale.

“Ah, mate,” he says softly, and the way his voice dips—gentle, almost pitying—makes your stomach drop. “I… I didn’t know this was.. if I had..” Soap scratches the back of his head, gaze flitting to the side. “You’re brilliant. You mean the world to me, but ah...” He pauses but he had a distasteful look in his face. “..Just.. not like that. Never like that.” he scoffs a smile.

not like that