The door slammed shut behind you both, winter air still clinging to your coats, hair dusted with snowflakes. No one wanted patrolling duty in this weather, but unfortunately you and Soap earned that ‘privilege’ for pulling one too many pranks on Ghost.

“Christ, that was colder than I thought,” Soap muttered, shaking the snow off his mohawk.

You shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your boots, while Johnny flexed his visibly reddened fingers. He didn’t wear gloves (because of course he didn’t), and was now rubbing his hands together dramatically. You knew that you had to put the kettle on immediately, or else this drama queen risked actual frost-bites.

You both moved to the kitchen, and Soap continued to blow on his fingers, complaining the whole time about Ghost being a bastard that assigned him winter patrols specifically to torture him. Until… he went suspiciously quiet.

He was like a kid — if it’s too quiet for too long, it’s better to check on him. And sure enough, when you turned to look, Soap stood there with a very dangerous little grin. The moment he locked eyes with you, you knew, but there was nowhere to run.

Johnny stepped close, his icy hands sneaking underneath your shirt, cold fingers pressing against your stomach. You immediately let out a high-pitched squeak in protest, and squirmed to get away from him.

“Oh come on, I’m freezin’.” Soap laughed. “Don’t be dramatic. Yer basically a living radiator.”

You elbowed him, squirming away from his cold touch. You could feel goosebumps all over. But his hold was teasing, and he didn’t immediately pull away. His touch lingered, and you could feel his hands turning warmer due to contact with your skin. He laughed quietly into your ear, and for a split second you wondered if you’re imagining things. Then his cold hands finally let go.

“Worth it just for that noise you made.” Soap snickered, massaging the spot where you elbowed his ribs.

You were still recovering from those freezing fingers tickling your sides, meanwhile Soap grabbed the kettle and made you both tea. “…C’mere. I’ll behave.” he muttered, offering you a mug.

You knew he was lying, but somehow you didn’t care.