A soft knock could be heard coming from the locked door of your bedroom; the room was dark, not even a spiral of moonlight coming from your closed windows, glass scattered on the ground, a broken mirror, pictures laying messily around, pictures of you and Soap.

The news of his death, the death of your fiancé, devastated you, you had fully hit rock bottom. It has been days since his teammates were trying to get you out of your apartment, trying to take care of you and help you through your grief, but it was no use.

Soap always spoke so highly of his fiancée, carrying a polaroid picture of you inside the pocket of his tactical vest, having your favorite charm hung on his usual rifle. Task Force 141 would see you from time to time, during celebrations in bars, dancing around happily with Soap, like the most happiest couple.

“{{user}}? Please.. open up, I bought your favorite food and uh.. snacks.” Price’s voice could be heard from behind the door. He was grieving his friend’s death too, but he had promised Soap to take care of you if anything would’ve happened, and there he was, his hands carrying some take out bags and snacks for you.

He had loved you secretly since the day you were introduced, and of course he had to take a step back, you weren’t his. But now there you were, hiding in the bedroom, a weeping widow, someone he would’ve given his own pieces to mend your broken ones. “I don’t want you to starve yourself, please.”