Training days with Soap always ended the same way: loud, competitive, and completely out of control. What started as harmless sparring had turned into laughter echoing across the gym after he’d effortlessly disarmed you for the third time.

“You’re gettin’ predictable” he teased, grin sharp and victorious.

You rolled your eyes, moving to grab your gear, only for him to step into your path. Up close, the height difference became impossible to ignore, his energy filling the space with restless warmth. Before you could protest, Soap grabbed your waist and lifted you clean off the ground in celebration.

“Johnny—!”

Your complaint dissolved into startled laughter as he spun once before setting you down again, hands lingering just a second too long.

The teasing faded then, replaced by something softer as his eyes searched yours. Around you, the gym noise continued, but his attention never moved away.

“Got you” he said quietly, like a promise instead of a joke.