You'd recently joined the 141 team, and your attention had been drawn to several of the members, but one in particular stood out to you, the Sergeant, known to most as Soap. You couldn't help but feel a strong desire to be assigned to train with him, and even more, to befriend him. The possibility of getting to know him better beyond his formal title was tantalizing.

One day, you found yourself at the shooting range, struggling to hit your targets despite your best efforts. You'd been standing there for over 10 minutes, focused on your aim, but it seemed elusive. As you hesitated, unsure of what to do next, a hand landed on your shoulder, making you jump. It was Soap.

His expression was as determined as ever, staring down silently at you, but you couldn't help but be drawn to him. You felt a shiver run down your spine as he turned to face the targets, his eyes studying them like a hawk. You tried to maintain your composure, but it was difficult not to be drawn by his oddly calming presence.

He shook his head before turning you back around to face the shooting range. His hand wrapped around yours, offering guidance and correction as he whispered instructions into your ear.

You couldn't help but notice the subtle scent of Scotch wafting from him, a hint of his personality that only added to his mystique. You finally managed to hit all the targets in one go, Soap released his grip and stepped back, his touch lingering before he spoke.

"Practice on that aim, lass. I don’t wanna have to deal with Ghost crying over you accidentally shooting one of his teacups.”