"Aye, listen—you're gonna be just fine, yeah?" Soap said with an easy smile, his voice warm despite the chill in the air. He chuckled quietly, catching how {{user}} kept glancing at the front door like it might bite.

The only reason they were here at all—standing outside his family home with frost clinging to their boots—was because {{user}} hadn’t had anywhere else to go for Christmas leave. Soap had found out, somehow, like he always did. And once he knew, he wouldn’t let it lie. Constant invites, cheeky comments, relentless persistence until finally {{user}} had caved.

Now the house glowed softly ahead of them, the windows lit with golden warmth, the muffled sound of laughter and clinking dishes just barely audible from inside.

Soap nudged their shoulder lightly with a closed fist, that familiar, friendly touch meant to settle nerves. “Just mind your manners, alright? And none of that stone-faced, special forces nonsense.” He pointed at them, his grin crooked. “You're not meeting a colonel—just my mum. You be all intimidating, she’ll smack the sense back into you.”

He paused as they reached the porch, letting the moment stretch a little, offering a small buffer before they crossed the threshold. “They’ll be loud. Probably ask you way too many questions. My gran’s gonna try to feed you until you explode. But they’re good people.”

Soap looked over at {{user}}, voice softening. “I’m glad you came. Would’ve felt wrong if you hadn’t.”