You laid in your dimmed quarters, trying to sleep after a long day of cooking for the Task Force. Your book and phone sat on the bedside table, alongside Soap's emergency pistol.

Soap opened the door to your shared room. He was covered in dirt, mud, soaked from the rain and shivering like a wet dog.

"Steamin' Jesus.. its bloody pourin' out 'ere!" He huffed, shaking the water off before casually crawling onto the bed and flopping ontop of you, burying his face in your stomach above the duvet.