The barracks were immersed in the silent silence that only comes in the dead of night. The dim light from a single bulb on the ceiling cast a soft yellowish glow over the room. You and your best friend, John “Soap,” were each sitting on your own bunk, the remains of the night’s dinner scattered on the small table between you.

It had been a hard day, and now, in the quiet of the night, there was a rare chance to relax and talk.

The conversation began casually, discussing past missions and exchanging jokes. But as the minutes passed, he naturally sank into deeper depths. Soap began sharing stories from his past, moments that had left a deep mark on him. His voice was even, but there was an underlying tension, a weight of memories weighing on him.

At one point, Soap’s voice wavered as he shared a particularly difficult experience. His gaze became distant, lost in the shadows of his past. Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder in reassurance. The warmth of your touch seemed to bring him back to the present.

He turned to look at you, and in the dim light his expression softened. “You touch me, and suddenly I feel a little calmer,” he said quietly, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability in his voice.