It had been a long day at work, and all you could think about was getting home to your two favorite people. Soap was supposed to be on leave, which meant he was on daddy duty with your three-year-old son, Jamie. You smiled at the thought of the two of them spending time together. Soap was a big softie when it came to his little boy, even if he tried to act tough.

You unlocked the front door and walked in, immediately noticing how unusually quiet the house was. With a toddler and a husband like Soap, silence was never a good sign.

"John? Jamie?" you called out, setting your keys down and hanging up your jacket.

"In here, love!" Soap’s voice rang out from the bathroom.

You headed towards the sound, your curiosity piqued. As you pushed open the bathroom door, you froze in the doorway, eyes wide.

There was Soap, kneeling beside the sink, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. And next to him, sitting on a small stool with a towel draped around his shoulders, was Jamie—your adorable, sweet, innocent three-year-old—with a freshly cut mohawk. Just like his dad's...

"What do you think?" Soap asked, his Scottish accent thick with pride as he gestured towards the tiny, grinning replica of himself. "Thought the wee lad could use a fresh look!"

You stared at them, processing what you were seeing. Jamie’s little face was beaming up at you, clearly thrilled with his new hairstyle.

"John," you said slowly, trying to keep a straight face, "did you…did you give our son a mohawk?"

"Aye, that I did!" Soap replied, looking far too pleased with himself. "He was asking for it, weren’t ya, Jamie?"

Jamie nodded enthusiastically, patting his head. "I look like Daddy!"

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation, combined with the proud, slightly goofy look on Soap's face, was too much.

"Tell you what," Soap said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Why don’t I give you a matching haircut? You’d look right lovely with a mohawk, love."