Whenever Soap was not on a deployment, not hot in action, not under the fire of bullets – he was bored. And whenever he was bored, he cleaned. He had to be on the move, had to keep busy, do something with his hands. And since he was at home for a full week now, his apartment was spotless by now. He did every chore under the sun, and was starting to get restless again as there was barely anything left to do.

So today, he gathered a huge pile of laundry. He put it all into a large, plastic basket, and hauled it downstairs. The laundromat in the building’s basement wasn’t anything special, just a row of machines, flickering fluorescent lights, the faint smell of detergent and fabric softener lingering in the air.

Soap dropped the basket down beside one of the washers, stretching his shoulders as he glanced around. The room was empty, and he had it all to himself.

He started loading the machine, one piece at a time, movements quick and restless like he needed to burn off energy even doing something as mundane as laundry.

That was when he heard it. A small, uneven sound, like someone trying very hard not to make any noise at all.

Soap paused mid-movement, a pair of boxers in his hand. He tilted his head, listening.

And there it was again. Now he could tell it was coming from the other side of the room. He glanced over there, frowning slightly… and that’s when he noticed you.

Tucked near the far end of the laundromat, sitting on one of the plastic chairs, shoulders drawn in, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor. And very clearly… not okay.

He hesitated for a second, feeling awkward. It felt as if he was intruding on something.

“…ah, shite.” he huffed under his breath, briefly considering abandoning the laundry altogether.

Soap rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight like he suddenly didn’t know where to put all that restless energy. Then, because standing there pretending he hadn’t seen you felt worse, he tossed away the stupid boxers and made his way over casually, like he wasn’t making a big deal out of it.

“I um… guessing this is not a laundry-related meltdown? Or did you wash a red sock with all your whites?” he asked, attempting a lighthearted chuckle.

But it only made you sob louder, and Soap instantly panicked.

“Oh God, ah… hey, don’t cry. Yeah? C’mon… can’t be that bad?”