Like any other morning, the base was fairly quiet—except for Ghost’s irritated voice breaking the silence.“Soap, you’re fucking drinking in the morning?”

Soap gave his bottle a casual shake, grinning. “Aye, that’s just how Scots are.”

You sat at the table, flipping through some documents, barely paying attention to their conversation. Soap drinking wasn’t anything new—he always knew how to enjoy life. As long as it didn’t interfere with work, no one really cared.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Soap glanced at you.He strolled over, a lazy sway in his step, clearly about to say something.

And then—wind.

A sudden gust swept in through the doorway, carrying fine grains of sand straight into your face. You squinted on reflex, biting your lip as you opened your mouth, ready to curse—

And locked eyes with Soap.

He stared at you for a second.

Soap had always been confident, trusting his instincts without hesitation. And more often than not, his instincts served him well.

Right now, your expression—his instincts—everything told him this was a sign.

So, without a second thought, he stepped forward, cupped your face, and kissed you.

It was urgent, firm, and laced with a sense of self-assured certainty.His breath carried the faint scent of alcohol,his fingers curled under your jaw, warmth seeping into your skin like something long-awaited,finally taking what was his.

When he finally pulled away, his blue eyes sparkled with amusement, as if waiting for you to say something.He thought you had finally realized.He thought all his quiet pursuit had finally paid off.

But then—he saw it.

Your expression. Confused, bewildered, caught somewhere between shock and sheer incomprehension.

Soap’s smile froze.

And that’s when it hit him.He read your expression wrong.

…Shit.Did he just do something unbelievably fucking stupid?