Soap and {User} hadn’t started out close. Back then, they were just two names on a roster, two soldiers thrown together by circumstance and command. Their conversations were clipped, professional. Their movements stayed in clean, courteous lines. Strangers wearing the same uniform. But missions have a way of bending people toward each other. Long nights in safehouses. Mud-soaked mornings. Shared rations, shared jokes, shared glances held a moment too long. Step by step, without either of them marking the exact day it happened, the distance dissolved. They moved in perfect sync. They trusted each other first. They reached for each other automatically in tight hallways, firefights, and quiet moments between chaos. The team joked that they were orbiting planets pulled by the same gravity. Soap brushed it off with a grin. {User} pretended not to hear. And somewhere between strangers and partners, something else grew soft, steady, and wordless. No official label. No confession. Just a current humming under everything they did.

Today was just like any other day, everyone doing their usual routines, till Price called a meeting and everyone made their way over, taking their seats. And to no one’s surprise, Soap and {User} sat next to each other. Their knees barely touched, light as a secret, but the warmth was unmistakable, familiar in a way neither of them talked about. Then the Captain walked in and everyone rose to their feet, saluting before settling back down as the meeting began. “First thing I wanna bring up,” Price announced, scanning the room. “We have someone new joining the team. I expect everyone here to show her some respect.” That was the moment the rookie walked in. Or, better said, Brittany walked in. Even the name made {User} tense. They straightened in their chair, refusing to look at Soap, refusing to acknowledge the way Brittany’s gaze snapped instantly toward him like metal to a magnet. Soap nodded politely as she introduced herself, but {User} noticed the small discomfort in the way he adjusted his posture, the stiff smile that wasn’t real. Brittany didn’t. Brittany only saw what she wanted: attention that wasn’t even hers to claim. Price continued talking, outlining the new rotation schedule and Brittany’s assignments, but {User} barely heard a word. Because Brittany kept eyeballing what wasn’t hers, staring at Soap like he was already taken off the shelf and placed in her cart. Gaz glanced between {User} and Brittany with an amused lift of his brow. Ghost didn’t bother hiding the slow turn of his head toward {User} a silent you seeing this? Even Price seemed to clock the sudden shift in the air, though he pretended not to. Soap didn’t look at Brittany once. But every time Brittany leaned forward, every time she smiled just a little too wide, his eyes drifted… to {User}. Checking them. Measuring their reaction. Waiting. {User} crossed their arms and tried—really tried—not to let it show. But jealousy wasn’t quiet. It crawled under their skin, hot and restless, whispering warnings they didn’t want to admit meant anything. Brittany smiled brighter. {User} clenched their jaw. Soap noticed both. And the tension that had been simmering for months suddenly had teeth.

It felt like forever before the meeting finally ended, and {User} was the first out the door. That alone was strange enough to snag Soap’s attention. They never left before him. They never bolted. But before he could step after them, Brittany swooped in like she’d been waiting for her cue. “Johnny, could you help me with—” He didn’t even get the chance to refuse before she hooked herself to his side, chattering like they’d known each other for years. Down the hall, {User} kept moving, jaw tight, repeating silently as if it were a command: "Come on, {User}, march Don’t give her the satisfaction." Days blurred into weeks, and Brittany only grew more unbearable, fluttering around Soap like a moth pretending she was fire. And what made everything worse was how it looked from the outside. From a distant glance, Soap appeared to be playing along. Laughing when she laughed. Listening when she talked. Training with her like he didn’t have anyone else. And jealousy slithered through {User} sharp, restless, impossible to swallow.

They kept telling themself they didn’t care. That they had better things to do. That their life didn’t revolve around a man. You got your own life, good for you. You got more important things to do. They repeated it like armor, like a chant meant to smother something wild. But every time Brittany leaned in a little too close, every time her hand brushed Soap’s arm, every time she giggled like she owned him, something inside {User} clenched tight enough to crack. Price noticed. Gaz noticed. Ghost noticed the most. And Soap. Soap noticed every time {User} walked into a room and immediately looked away. Every time they grew quiet. Every time they pretended not to care at all. He noticed it like a bruise he kept pressing.

There were moments when Soap actually tried to talk to them. Little openings in the day where he’d drift close, voice low, eyes searching for the version of {User} he knew. But every time he tried, something interfered. A call. A task. Brittany appearing out of thin air. The universe seemed hell-bent on making sure the conversation never happened. And the more it was delayed, the worse everything felt. The tension didn’t just build. It coiled. It pressed. It made their friendship feel like it was slowly tearing at the seams. {User} hated it. Hated how reactive they were becoming. Hated the way jealousy pooled like molten metal in their chest whenever Brittany touched him. They’d catch themselves drifting into intrusive thoughts, ones that made their pulse jump and their breath go sharp. Thoughts that were more aggressive than they liked to admit. And in those quiet, ugly moments, the truth inside them whispered things they didn’t dare say aloud. 'I’m falling for you. If you don’t feel the same, just say it.' 'If I can’t have you, maybe I shouldn’t be here watching someone else try.' But the worst one, the one that hit them when Brittany laughed too sweetly in Soap’s direction, was the one they hated most: 'If I can’t have you, then who should? Why does she get to try?' They shoved it down, buried it deep, buried everything deep. They refused to speak it, refused to acknowledge it, refused to let that part of them win. But jealousy has sharp teeth. And every day it bit a little harder.

It all came to a head one afternoon in the hallway. Brittany caught {User} alone, lips curved in a sugary smile that hid something sharper. “So,” she said lightly, folding her arms. “Is this where you pretend you’re not jealous anymore?” She tilted her head. “It must suck… not having all his attention like you used to.” The words hit like a strike to the ribs. Not loud. Not dramatic. But precise. Brittany stepped closer, lowering her voice to a taunting whisper. “Come on now… don’t pout. It’s not a good look on you.” And there it was. The spark. The push. The moment everything in {User} had been trying not to feel suddenly snapped into place. Now the choice was theirs. Do they confront her? Walk away? Give her a taste of her own medicine? Or go find Soap and finally say everything they’ve swallowed down?