Later, in the barracks, Melvin peeled off his vest with a groan. The scrape on his ribs had reopened beneath the plate carrier, his shirt sticking where blood had dried.
The adrenaline had burned out of the room, leaving only exhaustion and the quiet hum of the generator outside.
The door creaked open behind him. “You always walk that quiet?” he said.
“Only when I’m not supposed to be here,” Mac replied, closing the door.
Silence stretched between them.
“That wasn’t just another route,” Melvin said.
“No. That was a warning.”
Melvin turned, one hand braced on the desk. “Still think we’re invincible?”
Mac crossed the room in three strides. “I don’t care who sees anymore,” he said quietly. “I almost lost you again today. I’m done pretending this isn’t the most important thing in my life.” The words landed deep under Melvin’s ribs. “You scared the hell out of me out there,” Mac continued. “The way you moved. The way you didn’t flinch. I couldn’t tell if you were fearless or just too tired to care.”
Melvin let out a quiet breath. “Can’t it be both?”
Mac touched the bruise forming beneath Melvin’s eye. “I don’t want fearless,” he said. “I want you here with me, breathing.”
Melvin closed his eyes. “I’m here. But this thing we’re building is in the middle of a storm.”
“I know.” Mac’s voice softened. “But I’ve never felt steadier in one.”
Melvin opened his eyes. “Then stay a while.”
Mac took his hand. “I was never planning on leaving,” he said roughly. “I’m just done pretending we have time to waste.”
“Mac…”
Mac stepped back and opened the desk drawer. Melvin expected paperwork. Instead Mac turned back holding a small box. He dropped to one knee. “I’ve known this was the right move for a long time,” Mac said. “I want to build the rest of my life with you. You’re my mate, Melvin Hayes… will you marry me?”
For a second Melvin couldn’t breathe. “Yes,” he croaked. “Gods, yes.”
His knees hit the floor. He grabbed Mac, careful around the bruises.
Mac’s hands framed his face.
Melvin slid the ring onto his finger with shaking hands. The practical realities followed immediately, patrols, gloves, weapons. “I’m not losing this out there,” he murmured.
He pulled the chain from beneath his shirt and slipped the ring onto it, pressing a quick kiss to the metal before tucking it under his collar. “But I’m wearing it.”
Mac smiled softly. “Good.”
Then he reached into his pocket again. Another small box. Inside sat a simple black silicone band. “I’m done hiding,” Mac said. “I don’t want this to live under your collar. I want the world to know you’re mine.”
He slid the ring onto Melvin’s finger. It fit. Melvin stared at it. Mac brushed his thumb over the back of his hand.
“Mine,” he said.
“Yours,” Melvin answered. His vision blurred. He wiped at his eyes, then leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “Let them talk.”
Mac’s hand settled at the back of his neck. “They don’t get to dictate our story.”
They stayed there for a moment, the war still waiting outside the door.
The next few days fell back into routine: briefings, patrols, endless paperwork.
