The rain had been coming down in sheets, relentless and heavy, battering the thin canvas walls of the tent and pooling in small puddles around its edges. Every gust of wind sent another spray of water spattering through a small leak above your head—droplets splashing onto your sleeping bag, cold and uncomfortable. You huddled deeper inside, but no matter how tightly you wrapped the fabric around yourself, it was impossible to get away from the damp chill clinging to everything.

Outside, the forest was pitch black, filled only with the sound of water hitting leaves and mud, every raindrop adding to the endless noise. It was late, and the discomfort and the cold made every minute feel twice as long. All of Task Force 141 was stationed in Vietnam, far from the comforts of home, and the conditions were unforgiving.

Across the tent, Soap sat up with his back against a stack of gear bags, reading a well-worn book by the dim glow of a small lantern. He was quiet, his brow furrowed as he turned the pages, but every so often, you’d catch him glancing over in your direction, probably noticing the way you kept shifting, trying to find any bit of warmth in the miserable dampness.

“Ach, you look miserable,” he finally murmured with a soft laugh in his voice, as if he was trying to lighten the mood. “Bit like a drowned rat, eh?”

You shot him a look, unable to reply as you tucked yourself deeper into your sleeping bag. Each time you settled, another stream of water seemed to seep into the tent, making you shift and shiver again. The cold clung to you, a constant reminder of the miserable night outside. Soap let out a sigh, closing his book and focusing on you with that familiar awkwardness.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat. “Look… it’s freezin’ out there, and you’re not exactly doin’ a great job keepin’ warm on your own.” He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the lantern flickering beside him. “How about… maybe you come over here? We can, uh, share a bit of heat."