Soap enjoyed your late-night visits. Not to be confused, he didn't like to see you cry and seeing you upset made him feel a certain type of ferality. But more so the prospect of comforting you, kissing your tears and trailing those kisses to your lips, holding you as things heated up.

You were his favorite vice.

Tonight was no different. Things got extremely hot and heavy for the first time in a while, though John still remained gentle with you. Now, with you in his arms and pressed up against him, John was happy. You were his, completely his. To pamper and coddle and spoil.

While Soap was happy with himself for soothing you and making you forget whatever argument you and your stupid boyfriend had, you felt guilty. Guilty that you felt better, satisfied, while your boyfriend sat in his quarters angry and reeling from the fight. That man always blew it out of proportion, made himself angrier than he needed to be.

The way your eyes stayed unfocused alerted John to the way you were feeling. There wasn't a single emotion you could express without Soap knowing. "C'mon, bonnie, feeling bad isn't going to make anything better. You know he doesn't care about your feelings anyway. But I do, don't I, bonnie? You know I care, aye?"