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Olivia Walker is a shining star.
John noticed her before he ever spoke to her, noticed the way people gravitated toward her, the way her laughter carried, the way she seemed so sure of herself in a way he’d never been. It was effortless, magnetic, impossible not to be drawn in. She moved through the world with a kind of easy confidence, like the air itself parted just enough to let her through, leaving everyone else catching their breath in her wake.
Friendship had come quickly, naturally, sparked by a partnered project. But falling in love had taken longer, pushed along by Lemar’s gentle nudges to recognize his feelings, and later, to actually act on it. He remembers the first time he worked up the nerve to ask her to a dance, palms sweating, rehearsing the words in his head like a drill, and fearing rejection all the while. But she’d only smiled, bright and a little surprised, and said yes.
John had spent that whole night in a kind of daze, watching her spin under the string lights strung up around the gym, thinking: Wow.
And dating her felt the same way; something impossibly good, something he hadn’t earned but had somehow been given. They’d sit on the hood of her car, talking about her plans for the future, the places she wanted to go, the things she wanted to learn, the person she wanted to become, and he’d listen, thinking that wherever she went, he wanted to follow. When he thought about the future, it had her shape to it.
He wanted his whole life with her: every ordinary day, every messy, hard one, every single piece of it, by her side.
They’d made it through the blur of college applications, the whirlwind of senior year, and now graduation loomed like a bright, inevitable line on the horizon. But John’s acceptance to West Point came with rules, and strict ones at that. No marriage, not for cadets. John told her so, standing with her on the football field after graduation rehearsal, diploma almost in reach.
“I know we can’t get married yet, but if you’re willing to wait four years…” He’d trailed off, words faltering, but his hesitation eased the moment she smiled at him. That steady, grounding smile that always made him feel like he could do anything.
“I can wait,” she assured him, and held out her pinkie. “It’s only four years.”
John linked his own with hers. “Four years,” he’d echoed.
And they’d sealed that promise between them with a kiss.
As the years at USMA went by, the thought of marrying her was what got him through the roughest stretches: the endless drills, and all the nights where he felt hollowed out by pressure and expectation. He’d catch himself daydreaming about it during lectures, picturing her smile, her hand sliding into his as she said I do. And somewhere in the middle of those long months, the idea started to take root:
What if I took her name?
He turned it over in his head between runs, between salutes, between letters to her and Lemar, trying out how it might fit. John Walker, he thinks, and likes it more with each consideration. It sounded right on him. More right than his own. Maybe because his name was tied to his parents and all their expectations that he could never quite reach. Maybe because her name meant warmth and laughter and the kind of love he’d only ever dreamed of. Or maybe because it felt like a beginning, with someone who chose him.
They talk about marriage during their breaks.
Olivia would invite her parents, of course. John wants Lemar as his best man. He can’t imagine anyone else standing beside him, and wants the rest of the Hoskins there, too. They’re family in every way that matters. He knows he ought to invite his own parents, if only for the gesture of it, but Olivia isn’t keen on the idea, and John suspects they wouldn’t come anyway.
He files away the details as they come.
John knows to buy a silver ring since she’s always said gold felt too loud, and he’s certain she knows when he finally buys it, too. She’s told him before that he’s a terrible liar, and she’s usually right. He’s been buzzing with it, barely able to contain himself, that unbearable urge to ask her already threatening to burst forth.
Soon enough, four years turn into three, then two, then one.
The calendar pages thin, the distance between them shrinking until it feels like something he could finally close his hand around. Graduation edges ever nearer, and so does the question he’s been carrying with him all along, tucked carefully behind every later and someday, waiting for the moment when it finally becomes now.
John starts carrying the ring box with him, something he can reach into his pocket and feel until he finally asks, and talks to Lemar about a plan. He wants to set up something thoughtful and intentional and worthy of her. Lemar listens, grinning, offering suggestions, telling him to breathe, as John nods along, swearing he’ll wait, swearing he’ll do it right.
He doesn’t.
It’s a week early, and they’re just walking through town as night settles in. The stars are bright overhead, the streetlamps throwing soft halos of light onto the pavement. Olivia’s hand is in his, warm and familiar, and she’s talking about something small and ordinary, smiling up at him like she always does.
And that’s the problem.
The way her smile looks under the starlight and the glow of the lamps hits him all at once, and it’s overwhelming. It’s the same smile that got him through sleepless nights and brutal mornings. The same smile he pictured during drills, during lectures, during every moment he thought he might break.
He gets lost staring into her dark eyes.
Olivia squeezes his hand at his sudden silence. “Are you okay?”
John blinks, coming back to the moment. He nods, and means to offer an assurance, but what comes out of his mouth is—
“Marry me.”
Olivia laughs, startled and warm. “John—”
But he’s already fumbling, tripping over his own words. “Ah, shit, wait. I mean– sorry. I didn’t– I was gonna do this with– I had a whole thing planned, but you were laughing and then you looked at me and I– wait– hold on—” He lets go of her hand, reaching into his jacket pocket with a frantic little pat. “Here. I got it.”
“Oh,” she says, softer now. “John…”
John starts to ask again, but Olivia doesn’t wait.
She throws her arms over his shoulders, all momentum and joy, and his body reacts on instinct, hands finding her waist, catching her in a spin. One hand is still clutching the ring box in an awkward, half-forgotten grip, but then she’s kissing him. The moment her lips meet his, the world narrows down to just this: her warmth, her laugh, the way she fits against him.
John kisses her back just as hard, tipping his head to match hers, letting her excitement crash over him in a way that makes his chest ache. His heart is pounding so hard he’s sure she can feel it with the way she’s pressed against him. His free hand slides to the small of her back, holding her close, grounding himself in her as she laughs softly into the kiss, breathless and bright, and he could live in this moment forever.
When they finally pull apart, only inches between them, Olivia rests her forehead against his. John is grinning like an absolute fool, cheeks flushed, entranced with the way her eyes are sparkling, shining brighter than the stars overhead. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” she says, entirely fond. “Yes. Of course, yes.”
He swallows, heart threatening to leap out of his chest, and even though his fingers are still wrapped around the box and the little silver ring within, he can’t stop his own grin. He pulls her closer, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the top of her head, then to her lips again, and whispers against her mouth, “Love you.”
“Love you too,” Olivia says, and giggles, brushing her nose against his. “Although,” she adds, teasing, “tradition usually says you get down on one knee for this.”
“Taking your name isn’t tradition either,” he says automatically, then freezes. His mind catches up a beat after the words have already left his mouth. “Uh—”
She pulls back just enough to look at him properly. “Oh?”
“I mean, uh,” he stammers. This isn’t how he’d planned to broach the subject, and heat is quickly rising in his cheeks. He laughs once, nervous and breathless, before deciding to just go for it. “I’d like to take your last name. Once it’s all– official. Only if you’d like that too, obviously, but I just– I don’t really care about keeping mine, and– yeah.”
“So you’d like to take mine,” Olivia says softly.
“Yeah, yeah. I– I like how it sounds. And you…” He trails off, searching for the right words, then gives up and lets them spill out anyway. “You make me want to be better at everything. At being a good man, at doing things right. When I think about the future, it’s always you, and somehow it just– it feels right that it’d be your name too.”
Her eyes soften evermore. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”
John nods, sheepish but completely earnest, because there’s no point in denying it when the very idea has been consuming so many of his days. “I really have.”
“People might give you a hard time,” she says, her voice light, playful.
It’s more a tease than a protest, a way of asking if he’s sure.
He is. He’s never been more certain in his life.
“Let ‘em,” John says, leaning back into her. “I don’t care. I’ll wear it proud.”
“John Walker,” she says, testing it out, and then leans in to kiss him, the name pressed right against his widening smile. “Hm. It has a ring to it.”
He laughs, open and bright, and pulls back just enough to take her hand in his. His fingers tremble slightly as he finally opens the box properly, lifting the silver ring free. She watches him, soft smile in place, letting her hand rest in his as he slips it onto her finger.
“So do you,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle, reverent kiss to her knuckles, lips lingering over the ring, sealing another promise right there.
Their wedding is still months away, but the anticipation colors every day in the brightest, most vivid hues. They sift through choices for dresses and suits, while Lottie Hoskins eagerly helps them plan flower arrangements, and soon enough, at long last, the day finally arrives. They stand together on the altar of the little church in Custer’s Grove, everything they’ve imagined waiting just behind the next breath.
“…you may now kiss the bride.”
The words barely finish leaving the officiant’s mouth before John is upon her, one hand finding Olivia’s waist, the other cupping her cheek like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact breath of air. She’s already smiling before he leans in, and the moment their lips meet, the world narrows down to just the two of them.
She tastes like laughter and champagne, like sunlight and summer air, like every quiet promise they ever made to each other finally coming true. Applause and cheers swell somewhere around them, distant to the moment, but all John hears is her soft exhale against his mouth, the tiny sound she makes as she kisses him.
When they part, Olivia doesn’t step back, forehead resting against his.
“How does it feel?” she whispers. “Mr Walker.”
The name hits him like a struck bell, clear and resonant. It’s hers, and now it’s his, and something inside him goes molten, warm and unstoppable. Every bright piece of her reflected back in his eyes, and his face splits into a grin so wide and unguarded he knows he couldn’t hide it if he tried.
“Feels pretty damn good,” he murmurs, awed. “It feels perfect.”
Because it does. Because she does.
And before the moment can pass, before the photographer can even reset their focus, he leans back in and kisses her again; slower this time, surer, a promise he intends to keep forever. He’s never felt more like himself than in this moment: her husband, her partner, her man.
John Walker, he thinks, dizzy with it.
He’s never been so full of love in his life.