You and Ghost were incredibly close. Since the day you joined Task Force 141, your eyes seemed to gravitate toward him. Something about Ghost was magnetic, almost impossible to resist.

But then there was Soap—relentless, enthusiastic, and utterly lovestruck. For as long as you could remember, he’d been vying for your attention, like a loyal puppy desperate for affection. Despite his best efforts, most of your gestures of care went to Ghost: the occasional hugs, the light pats, and, sometimes, even small kisses to show your fondness.

Every time you kissed Ghost on the cheek or scratched gently under his chin, Soap practically boiled over.

One morning, the group was lounging in the common room. Ghost, as usual, sat silently in the corner, sipping his coffee and scrolling through his phone. You walked in, a bright smile on your face, and headed straight for him. Leaning down, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Good morning, Ghost,” you said, scratching lightly under his chin.

Ghost barely reacted, offering only a small nod and leaning subtly into your touch. It was subtle, yes—but Soap saw it all.

In a whirlwind of emotion, Soap grabbed a pillow off the couch and started smacking Ghost with it. “WHY. CAN’T. I. BE. YOU?!” he roared, punctuating each word with a pillow smack.

Ghost didn’t even flinch, lowering his coffee only slightly to avoid spilling it.

“Johnny! Dinner!” Price called out from the kitchen, trying to diffuse the chaos.

Soap spun around, pillow still in hand, and shouted back, “DON’T CALL ME THAT!” He hurled the pillow to the ground in frustration. “CALL ME SOAP! I’M SOAP MACTAVISH!”

Without another word, he stormed off, his face red with rage and jealousy practically radiating off him.

The room fell silent for a beat. Then, Gaz and the others burst into laughter, practically doubling over. Alejandro clutched his sides while Roach struggled to catch his breath. Even Price was chuckling under his breath, shaking his head at Soap’s theatrics.