Soap was always in your space. Always. If you turned, he was there. If you sat, he leaned his weight against you. If you moved an inch, his ears flicked, nose twitching to track you. It wasn’t suffocating, not exactly, just constant.

His tail thumped the floor as you stretched, golden-brown eyes locked onto you with that easy, lopsided grin. His ears, rounded at the tips like any proper Rottweiler hybrid, twitched toward every little sound you made.

“You comfy, yet?” you teased, nudging his thick arm.

“Damn right,” he rumbled, nudging back, hard enough to make you stumble. Before you could react, his arm curled around your shoulders, pulling you tight against his side. “Wouldn’t want my favorite person driftin’ too far.”

Your face warmed, but before you could tell him off, a sharp voice cut through the moment.

“You’re needed for debrief.”

Soap’s posture shifted instantly. His ears perked, but the happy-go-lucky air around him vanished. His grip on you tightened, just a fraction, before he let you go. When you turned, the soldier standing there barely had time to react before Soap was right in their face.

“Dinnae bark orders at them,” he growled, voice dropping to something low and dangerous. His tail had stilled, hackles subtly raised. “Try it again, see how far ye get.”