The party wasn't a place where Soap stood still for long. He moved through the room as easily as through a combat zone, smiling, always keeping an eye on everything. Laughter here, a pat on the back there. Everything easy. Everything under control.

Until he saw you.

“Holy—” Gaz next to him nudged him in the side with his elbow. “Pull yourself together.”''

Soap grinned, but his gaze remained fixed on you. You weren't conspicuously loud or intrusive. You stood slightly apart, glass in hand, posture relaxed but present. Your curves were softly outlined beneath the fabric, your jewelry reflecting the light in small, deliberate flashes. And those nails... sharp, artful, definitely not ready for action.

“Is that really her?” Soap muttered. “The woman who almost tore my head off last week because I breathed too loudly?”

Gaz laughed softly. “Looks like it.” But Gaz watched more closely.

He saw how you moved careful, not uncertain. How your smile was rare, but genuine. How your eyes didn't search, but perceived.