Cold feet and warm hearts.
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The hotel room felt too quiet for the night before a wedding.
No laughs, no drinks, no friends or bridesmaids… just you, sat cross-legged on the bed. The veil is still in its protective wrapping beside you, and you kept staring at your phone like it might suddenly light up with his name. It had been almost an hour since you’d last heard from him—just a short message, a joke, something about how he’d probably cry before you did tomorrow. Very Johnny. Very him.
And then… nothing.
You tried not to read into it. Tomorrow was a big day. Nerves were normal. You were nervous too—your stomach had been fluttering all evening, your thoughts drifting between excitement and a quiet, steady fear of everything changing.
But this silence felt different.
You sighed and dropped your phone onto the bed. “He’s fine..” you muttered to yourself. “He’s probably just with the guys.”
Still, your chest felt too tight.
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Across town, Johnny sat alone on the edge of his bed hotel bed, elbows resting on his knees, dog tags hanging loose from his fingers. He’d been turning them over and over for the past twenty minutes.
The faint clink of metal against metal filled the room, rhythmic and restless.
Tomorrow, he was supposed to marry you.
Tomorrow, he was supposed to stand in front of everyone—Price, Ghost, Gaz, your friends, your family—and promise you forever.
Forever.
His jaw tightened.
“Bloody hell…” he muttered under his breath.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The room smelled faintly of starch and cologne—the suit hanging neatly in the wardrobe, polished shoes lined up beneath it. Everything was ready.
Well..everything except him.
Because no matter how much he loved you—and God, he loved you more than anything—there was one truth he couldn’t outrun.
He couldn’t promise you he’d come back.
Not with the life he lived.
He’d seen too many soldiers not make it home. Too many folded flags. Too many quiet, devastating knocks on doors. He knew how it happened—quick, clean, impersonal. Sometimes there wasn’t even a body.
Sometimes, it was just the tags.
His grip tightened around the chain in his hand.
“Could be me..” he whispered.
The thought had always been there, lurking in the back of his mind. But tonight it felt louder. Sharper.
Real.
Tomorrow, he’d be tying you to that reality.
To the risk.
To the possibility that one day, someone else would stand where he stood now, rehearsing words to tell you he wasn’t coming home.
His stomach twisted.
“I can’t…” he murmured.
He sat up abruptly, running a hand over his mohawk, breathing uneven.
“I can’t do that to her.”
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Your phone buzzed.
You grabbed it immediately, heart leaping.
But it wasn’t him.
Just a message from one of your bridesmaids, something light and excited about tomorrow. You responded automatically, your mind elsewhere.
Then you paused.
Enough was enough.
You grabbed your jacket, slipped on your shoes, and headed out.
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He didn’t hear the knock at first.
He was pacing now, restless energy coiled in his muscles, mind running in circles he couldn’t break out of. Another knock—louder this time.
He froze.
“Johnny!” your voice called through the door.
His heart dropped.
“…shit.”
For a moment, he considered not answering. Pretending he wasn’t there. Buying himself time.
But that thought died almost instantly.
You were here.
Of course you were.
You always came when something was wrong.
He exhaled slowly and crossed the room, opening the door. You stood there, slightly out of breath, eyes searching his face.
“Hi..” you said softly.
He swallowed. “Hi, lass.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind you.
“What’s going on?” you asked.
Straight to the point. Always.
He tried to smile. “Nothin’. Just—uh—pre-wedding jitters, y’know?”
You didn’t buy it. Not for a second.
“John.”
The way you said his name—gentle, steady—made his chest ache. You stepped closer, reaching for his hand. His fingers tightened reflexively around the dog tags, and you noticed.Your gaze dropped to them, then back to him.
“…talk to me.”
He hesitated.
God, he didn’t want to ruin this night for you. Didn’t want to put this weight on your shoulders. But you were already here. Already looking at him like you saw right through him.
“…I shouldn’t marry you.” he said quietly.
The words hit the air like a gunshot.
You blinked. “What?”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “It’s not—this isn’t—” He exhaled sharply. “It’s not fair to you.”
“Not fair—?” you echoed, disbelief creeping into your voice. “Johnny, what are you talking about?”
He ran a hand over his face. “My job. My life. You know what it is, but—” He shook his head. “Knowin’ and livin’ it are two different things.”
“I am living it.” you said, a little more firmly now. “I’ve been living it since I fell in love with you.”
He flinched.
“That’s exactly it..” he said. “You shouldn’t have to.”
Silence stretched between you. Then you stepped closer again, your voice softer.
“Is this about you not coming back?”
His eyes snapped to yours.
Of course you understood.
Of course you did.
“…aye.” he admitted.
The word was barely audible.
You studied him for a moment, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the fear he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.
“You think marrying you makes that risk worse?” you asked.
“I think it makes it crueler.” he said bluntly.
The honesty stung—but not in the way he expected.
“Crueler.” you repeated.
He nodded, gaze dropping again. “If somethin’ happens… it’s not just your boyfriend who didn’t come home. It’s your husband. Your future. Everything we ever planned.”
His fingers tightened around the dog tags again.
“I’ve seen it..” he continued quietly. “Seen what it does to people. The waiting. The not knowin’. The knock on the door…” His voice faltered. “I can’t put you through that.”
You let his words settle. Then you reached out, gently prying the dog tags from his grip.
He didn’t resist.
You held them between your fingers, the metal cool against your skin.
“Johnny..” you said softly, “look at me.”
He did.
And what he saw in your eyes wasn’t fear.
It wasn’t doubt.
It was something steady. Certain.
“You think not marrying you would spare me that pain?” you asked.
He frowned slightly. “It would—”
“No.” you interrupted gently. “It wouldn’t.”
He went quiet.
“If something happens to you…” you continued, your voice trembling just a little now, “it doesn’t matter what I am on paper. Girlfriend. Fiancée. Wife. It will still break me.”
His chest tightened.
“You don’t get to protect me from loving you,” you said. The words landed deep. You continued.
“I chose this.” you went on. “I chose you. All of you. The good, the terrifying, the uncertain.”
You placed the dog tags back in his hand, closing his fingers around them.
“And I would choose you again. Tomorrow. Next week. Every time.”
He stared at your joined hands, swallowing hard.
“I know what your job means..” you said. “I know there’s a risk you won’t come back. That thought already keeps me up at night sometimes.”
His shoulders tensed.
“But loving you anyway?” you added softly. “That’s not a burden. It’s a privilege.”
He shook his head slightly, overwhelmed. “You shouldn’t have to be that strong.”
“I don’t have to be..” you said. “I want to be.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time—but not empty.
This time, it was full.
“You think you’re sparing me pain.” you said quietly. “But all you’d really be doing is taking away the time we do have.”
That hit him.
“I don’t want ‘safe’ if it means I don’t get you.” you said. “I don’t want ‘less pain’ if it means less love.”
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
“I want you, Johnny..however long I get you.”
He stepped forward suddenly, pulling you into his arms.You held onto him just as tightly.
“I’m scared..” he admitted into your hair.
“I know.” you whispered.
“I don’t want to leave you.” he said.
“I know.”
“I don’t want you gettin’ that call someday.”
Your grip tightened. “I don’t want that either.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands framing your face.
“But if it ever happens..” you said softly, “I want to have been your wife. Not the person who almost was.”
His eyes searched yours, raw and uncertain.
“…you’re sure?” he asked.
You didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
Something in him finally settled. Not the fear—that would probably never fully go away. But the doubt. The belief that he was doing the wrong thing by loving you like this.
It eased just enough.
He exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against yours.
“God, I love you..” he murmured.
You smiled through your tears. “I love you too.”
He huffed softly. “Still might cry tomorrow.”
You laughed quietly. “Oh, absolutely. I’m counting on it.”
He smiled then—really smiled—for the first time all night.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Alright..” he said. “Tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow..” you echoed.
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The next morning felt like stepping into sunlight after a storm. There were still nerves—of course there were—but they were different now.
Lighter.
Excited.
You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing your dress with slightly shaky hands as your bridesmaids fluttered around you.
“You look incredible..” one of them said.
You smiled, barely hearing them.
Your mind was somewhere else.
With him.
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Soap stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, trying—and failing—to look calm. Price stood beside him, arms crossed, watching him with a knowing expression.
“Cold feet sorted, then?” Price murmured under his breath.
Soap glanced at him, then nodded slightly.
“…aye.”
Price gave a small, approving nod. “Good.”
Ghost and Gaz stood nearby, both unusually quiet—but present.
Steady.
Soap took a slow breath.
Then the music started.
And everything else faded.
When you appeared at the end of the aisle, his breath caught. He’d seen you in a hundred different ways before—laughing, tired, messy, glowing.
But this?
This was something else entirely. For a moment, the world narrowed to just you.
Walking toward him.
Choosing him.
Again.
And suddenly, all the fear from the night before felt smaller.
Not gone.
But quieter.
Because this—this moment—was real.
And it was his.
By the time you reached him, his eyes were already suspiciously bright. You smiled softly.
“Told you..” you whispered.
He let out a shaky laugh. “Shut it.”
The ceremony passed in a blur of words and promises—but when it came time for vows, everything sharpened again.
Soap took your hands in his, steadying himself.
“I don’t know what the future looks like.” he began honestly. “Can’t promise it’ll be easy. Or long. Or safe.”
A few people shifted at the bluntness—but you didn’t. You just watched him.
“But I can promise you this..” he continued. “Every day I get with you, I’ll give you everything I’ve got. Every bit of love, every bit of fight, every bit of me.”
Your eyes filled with tears.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” he said. “And if I’m lucky enough to spend the rest of my life with you… I’ll consider that the greatest mission I’ve ever been given.”
Your voice trembled when it was your turn—but it didn’t break.
“I don’t need guarantees.” you said. “I just need you.”
His grip tightened on your hands.
“And however long we get.” you continued, “it will always be worth it.”
When the officiant finally said, “You may kiss the bride.” Soap didn’t hesitate.
He pulled you in, kissing you like he needed to prove—to himself, to the world—that this was real. That you were real. That this life, however uncertain, was his.
And for the first time since the night before, he didn’t feel like he was risking everything.
He felt like he was choosing it.
Choosing you.
And that made all the difference.
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For this request!
