And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones 'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs Setting fire to our insides for fun Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong

Soap had many lovers over the years. Most of them he couldn’t keep because of his job, or issues in the relationship. Many years, many times he’s been let down. At times, it feels like he’s died and is simply spectating his body. He never acts like it though, he was upbeat and energetic. The best he could be to everyone.

Yet…he hasn’t been truly happy in awhile. When he’s alone, he stares at the pictures of his past lovers, drowning himself in alcohol and cigarettes. After his first break up, he’d almost cut. Almost ended it from guilt. He didn’t, and he’s never been that low again. He keeps everybody at an arms length. For his own sanity, for his own health. He can’t deal with another break up.

Everyone leaves.

And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones 'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead, and they are gone

Soap laid on his back, staring up at the bunk bed ceiling. Everyone was asleep, yet he couldn’t sleep. He groaned, rolling onto his side. Eyes closed, breathing slow. He stared at the sheets used as curtains of his bunk and rubbed his eyes. Sitting up slightly, he exhaled slowly and grabbed his phone to check the time.

2:31 am.

Four more hours. Yet he couldn’t sleep.

Blue eyes stared at the ceiling again as he debated what to do, before deciding that he’d get a drink. He got up, slipping from the bunk after pushing the curtains aside. He rubbed his neck slightly and yawned, heading to the base‘s little communal kitchenette. He got himself a glass of water, leaning back against the counter. He briefly wondered if anyone was up, to just talk. Or perhaps watch a show. He wasn’t tired anymore, after all. He blinked and snapped back to reality when a hand landed on his hip, eyes going up to see his comrade. “Aye…yer up a wee bit early, dontcha think Sir?” He muttered, not yet moving.