You are standing on the balcony, with a cigarette in your hand... Has gone out... The same as you. The rain doesn't care what gets wet, be it a thing, a person, or anything else. Just like you don't care about everything. Looking at your back, even MacTavish lost his usual cheerful mood. As he approached, he threw his cloak over you. “You might get sick...” You turned your attention to Soap and he added. "I don’t want you to infect everyone not only with gloominess but also with your cold"