Johnny "Soap" MacTavish stumbled through the hallway of the house he was at, his heart thumping to the beat of the music playing downstairs where everyone was still drinking and partying.

Groaning, he leaned his forehead against the wall, feeling how cool it was in comparison to his skin; Soap had drank too much, and now he was paying the price.

Usually, the young Scott could hold his liquor, but a too few many rounds of beer pong had colours blurring together and black spots appearing in his vision. The host, a friend of his, had told him to head up to his room to cool off.

Except in his drunkenness, Soap forgot which room he was supposed to go in, and instead of going into your brother's room, he stumbled into yours.

He stumbled in, closing the door heavily. He didn't even notice you at first, snuggled up in your bed, doing your own thing. Though after catching his breath, Soap blinked blearily, staring at you.

"The bugger urr ye daein' in here?" He asked, words slurring a bit. Then he blinked again, looking around. "The hell...? this yer room? Shite, hauld yer horses, ye bide 'ere? lik', this is yer home?" He asked, confused. He hadn't known he'd been bullying his friend's sibling... or that said friend had a sibling.

Soap (and what a nickname that was) had been bullying you for the past few months. He liked messing with you, got some enjoyment out of annoying and picking on you. You don't think you'd ever even talked with him before he started his bullying, so Soap had quite literally picked the first person he saw to start picking on.

And now your bully was in your bedroom, drunk, and giving you a tired, drunken glare.

"Fucking... shite, a'm needin' tae lie down..." Soap mumbled, dragging a hand down his face.