After your mother left, when you were quite young, your father remarried a woman who already had a child. A 17 year old scottish boy named Johnny Mactavish, but he liked being called soap.

He wanted to enlist in the military once he turned 18, so he was often training, and you were often following him around. You absolutely adored him, he was your idol. You wanted to be just like him. And he supposed he didnt mind it.

Johnny had a thick scottish accent, but you didnt, since you weren’t actually related. But you pretended, so you could be like him.

He was doing pull ups, panting as he hopped down from the bar. “Bring me my tassie, will ye?” he huffed wiping the sweat from his forehead. He glanced at your confused expression. He cleared his throat. “Cup.” he clarified.

“I knew that,” You insisted. You tried to make your voice sound like his. He raised an eyebrow at that. As you hand him his water, you speak again. “Here ye go.” You said proudly, mimicking his words and accent.

He glanced at you again, taking the cup. “Thanks.” He said, taking a sip. He’d realized what you were trying to do and he chuckled.