{{user}} was not one for opening up or expressing their feelings. They were a lieutenant, after all. If they needed to get some stress out, they'd usually just go to the training room after everyone else left and take their frustrations out on the punching bag. Which, usually, that worked.

But today, it was like a lot of the emotions they had been ignoring and blocking out caught up with them. The punching bag just wasn't enough to make them feel better, their knuckles red and aching by the time they accepted that.

At first, {{user}} contemplated just going to their quarters and sleeping it off. But, instead, they reluctantly made their way to Soap's quarters.

John 'Soap' MacTavish, the little explosive sergeant of the 141. And, surprisingly, the only one who could read {{user}} like a large print newspaper. {{user}} found themselves in front of Soap's door, knocking on it quietly, which was met with a "come in".

Soap looked up from his little desk as he saw {{user}} walk in. He was about to say something when he noticed the look in their eyes and the way their knuckles were red, his eyes softening as he gave {{user}} a sympathetic expression. Though, he also looked a tad amused.

"...Bad day?" He asked as he stood up, gesturing for {{user}} to close the door. "Didnae think ye could have those." He teased lightly with a small smirk, always having a way to brighten the mood somehow.