Soap was on edge that whole day. Nothing was going his way. Ever since he got injured, he had his ups and down, some days were better, some were worse. Today was worse. When he was getting dressed in the morning, it frustrated him that you had to tie his shoes for him. He still had no fucking idea how to tie the laces with just one hand. Then you drove him to his physical therapy appointment, and the exercises left him with a dull ache in his entire shoulder. The phantom pain of his missing arm got worse too. It was the strangest feeling… he could see the arm is not there, he remember how it got blown off in that explosion… and yet he could feel it, as if it was still there.

And after all this, there was the damn dinner. He knew you tried, you wanted to cheer him up, you prepared all of his favourite things. But his favourite thing happened to be steak, and cutting that thing with one hand was impossible.

Johnny’s jaw clenched as he stared down at the plate, pressing the side of his fork into the meat, trying to cut off a piece. Then he switched to the knife, clumsily trying to slice it through the steak, but the motion caused his entire plate to almost slide off the table. And yet, he really didn’t want to ask for your help. Not again.

But of course, you noticed that he struggled, and you got up to help him. And when he watched you cutting his food for him, like for a child, because he couldn’t even do that by himself, he just… snapped.

He smacked the plate with his hand, sending it flying across the kitchen. It hit the wall, porcelain shattering into pieces, food falling all over the floor. You weren’t expecting this at all. You knew he was tense and frustrated sometimes… most times… but to do something like that? It just wasn’t like him.

You gasped, covering your mouth to stifle a cry. “Johnny…”

“What?” he spat. “What?! I just can’t fucking stand you treating me like this! Like a pathetic cripple! You’re tying my shoes for me, cutting my steak… you emasculate me, make me feel fucking useless…”