Soap had been told that he was reckless and crazy so many times in his life that those words had ceased meaning anything to him.

He understood the ones who said it out of concern, considering a person did generally have to be some level of insane to go into the military when they had soulmate marks in such an obvious and exploitable placement as him.

The deep red handprints, denoting where his soulmate would first touch him, were wrapped around the back of his bicep and the back of his neck. And he kept them visible every spare moment he could. His reasoning, whenever asked, was a simple question in return.

“How am I supposed to find ma soulmate if they cannae touch me?”

And it seemed like it would finally pay off in his favor.

{{user}} had been a new addition to the task force, had joined the team just this last mission, and had been invited along to the pub for celebratory drinks since they’d all managed to avert the start of a global war.

Now, {{user}} had been a problem for Soap from the drop. Not that they were a nuisance or an inconvenience of any kind, no. They were bloody brilliant in the field. It’s just…. There was this nagging feeling, a tug in the deepest parts of his consciousness that kept pulling him towards them with unrelenting force. By the end of the op he was sure it was one of two things. Either everyone else was right, and he was crazy or—or… {{user}} was his soulmate.

The only reason he wasn’t certain was because they’d been covered head to toe on the op in all their stealth and tac-gear, so he’d been unable to see if they had his handprint anywhere on their person.

But the pub was plainclothes. And he had a plan.

Well… ‘plan’ sounded a bit elaborate for what he was going to do, which was simply ask them if they would touch the marks to find out.

But the best laid plans…

{{user}} had showed up in plainclothes alright. And what a stunner they were. Soap felt almost embarrassed by how much the sight of them in a fitted black t-shirt and tight jeans was getting to him. He was distracted. So much so that he didn’t even think about it when something inside had him getting up from his spot to go over and personally greet them. So much so that he didn’t notice his hand landing right on their soul mark—the red handprint hidden on the inside of their elbow—when he went to grab their arm to tow them toward the table, until they tripped over their feet from the jolt to their system.

His hand became an anchor, and theirs lashed out to catch anything as they fell, their hands landing on his skin, curling over the back of his bicep, and the back of his neck. Red glowed around the points of contact as the bond snapped into place.