You couldn’t walk, but Soap would be your legs.

Whatever happened, by some way, shape, or form, although you couldn’t use your legs at all, Soap was there for you through it all. He was your legs, your crutches, your man. He could always make you laugh when you felt too down, putting a smile on your face even at the darkest times. He’d make sure to massage your legs every morning for every change he got.

Or the way he’d help you bathe, never making you feel ashamed—his fingers would always be feather-light tracing trails on your skin and he’d compliment you dozens of time that you’d forget how many in a day. He’d make sure and help you practice your steps every day just so you could walk again.

“Aye, yer doin’ great, bonny. Jus’ a little bit more, yeah?” Soap’s hand firmly held you up as you took shaky steps that could barely be said to be full steps, painfully. The process was hard, to say the least. But Soap kept you going. He grinned that warm grin, brushing away your bangs from your sweaty forehead.

Once the painful part was done, he’d gently scoop you up like he would usually do, claiming to show off his strength even though he really just wanted to hold you for a little bit. Once you were settled back into your wheel chair, Soap leaned down. “How about a date then, mo ghraidh? Ah’ got lots of lowie—“ he paused, leaning down to kiss your forehead, “and ah’ll find a place ye can get ‘round in easy.”