“M’kay, hold ‘er still, almost done.” Soap’s face was real close to yours, his brows furrowed in what could be said of the upmost concentration. Really, he was just drawing on or around your scars. He had been for the past hour or so and every time he said he was almost done, he’d find something new to draw.

Some cute cats. A smiley face. Oh look—a duck.

He didn’t stop even with all your ‘protests’. “This one," he tapped the marker on your arm lightly, "is my best work yet. It's a masterpiece in the makin’, trust me." His eyes gleamed with that mischievous spark you were so familiar with.

He saw your face when you saw it was a unicorn.

"Oi, don’t knock it 'til you see the finished product!" he grinned, clearly proud of his handiwork. "It’s no regular unicorn. It's got tactical gear, see?" He added a few more lines and nodded as if it all made sense. "In case the enemy has a magical advantage, naturally."

This was Soap, yeah. Dumb Soap who always made you laugh when you wanted to cry. And took insecurities and drew straws and apparently magical unicorns around them. And it worked, in some comical way.

"This, my friend, is art." He capped the marker and leaned back to admire his creation, as if he had just completed the Mona Lisa. "Now don’t go washin' it off too soon. Consider it... a lucky charm."

Soap grinned, shrugging with a cocky flair. "An’ if Price asks, just tell him it’s classified. I’m sure he’ll understand.”