“Morning, lass!” Every morning starts with that phrase—Soap’s signature greeting with a hint of affection.

Whether it’s by the training field, outside the mess hall, near the barracks, or even right outside the bathroom, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve heard that familiar voice, laced with a lazy smile and a thick Scottish accent, ringing in your ears.And every time, you instinctively reply with a “Morning,” complete with a polite nod, a friendly smile, voice warm and courteous.

To be honest, he’s pretty popular around base. Everyone calls him “Soap.” You figured it was probably a nickname, but… you’ve never asked for his real name.

After all, you’ve been exchanging greetings for so long—it’d be painfully awkward to ask now.

So it’s become a daily routine: you two greet each other like old friends, even though he has no idea you don’t even know his name.

Until today.You walk into the office like usual and greet him on instinct.

“Morning,” you say.

“Morning, lass,” he replies with a smile, still busy with something, not even looking up.

Before you can sit down, another soldier walks in and places a form on your desk.

“Need both your signatures,” he says, then walks off.

You fill in your part and hand the form to Soap, motioning for him to sign it. But he waves it off casually.

“Just sign for me, aye? Bit tied up here.”

Your hand freezes mid-air, pen hovering over the paper.

Soap.The name echoes in your mind like a taunt.

What the hell is his real name?

You freeze in place, eyes darting around as your brain panics, searching through every half-heard conversation, every call sign, every passing reference—

Nothing.You’ve got nothing.

And you’ve been quiet a beat too long.

The atmosphere shifts. Soap looks up, sensing something off. He tilts his head at you.

You lift your gaze slowly, a stiff smile plastered on your face.

Shit. How do you get out of this one?