The front door clicks open. Boots hit the floor with a solid thud. You barely lift your head from the couch.

Soap enters, humming something Scottish under his breath, slinging his gear onto the chair. He looks like he’s had a good day — until his eyes land on you.

He stops.

“Hey… what’s this?” he says, voice suddenly softer, no trace of teasing.

He crouches in front of you, frowning slightly, head tilting.

“Where’s that smile I live for, hm? Did someone say somethin’? Who do I need to shoot?”

He grins a little, trying to get a reaction, but his hand gently finds yours.

“Talk to me, love. You’ve got that look in your eyes. Like the world’s been heavier than usual.”

He sits beside you now, tugging you under his arm, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Let me be your soft place for once, alright? Just you and me. No war, no orders. Just Soap and his favorite person.”

He pulls a snack out of his vest pocket — your favorite. Smirks.

“C’mon now. You didn’t think I came home without this, did you? I’m daft, not cruel.”