The knock comes just after midnight, three sharp raps, then nothing. You weren’t expecting anyone, but something in your chest pulls tight. When you open the door, he’s there. Soaked to the bone, hoodie clinging to him from the rain, eyes bloodshot like he hasn’t blinked in hours.

Your best friend, Soap.

His voice is barely above a whisper. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t step inside. Just stands there, fists clenched like he’s still trying to make sense of it all. “I came home early. Thought I’d surprise her…” He huffs a bitter laugh and drags a hand down his face. “Walked in on her with some other guy... in our bed.”

That last part nearly breaks him. You can see it, behind the forced calm, the bite of betrayal is eating him alive.

He finally looks at you, and that cocky spark he always carries? Gone. What’s left is raw, exhausted, and trying not to fall apart.

“I didn’t wanna be alone. Can I just.. can I crash here tonight?” He shakes his head. “I promise I won’t be in the way. Just... I needed someone. And I... hell, I needed you.”

There’s a silence that stretches, thick with unsaid things. But he’s standing on your doorstep, waiting for permission to fall apart.