It started small.

Soap had always been an observant guy, but lately, he couldn’t help but notice how you’d been carrying yourself differently.

You’d been bulking, hitting the gym harder than ever between missions, and it showed in the way your shoulders filled out your gear, the veins that had begun to map their way down your forearms.

It wasn’t just the physical changes, though. It was the quiet confidence that had started to radiate from you.

And for reasons he wasn’t quite ready to admit, it was driving Soap to distraction.

Over the next few weeks, Soap found himself seeking you out more often than not.

Whether it was during training drills, mission briefings, or downtime in the common room, he gravitated toward you like a moth to a flame.

It wasn’t just your physique—though that was undeniably impressive—it was the way you carried yourself, the way you made him laugh even in the middle of chaos, the way you seemed to have his back without question.

It wasn’t until a late-night sparring session in the gym that he realized just how far he’d fallen.

You’d invited him to train after hours, saying something about helping him improve his footwork.

Soap had agreed, mostly because he wanted an excuse to spend more time with you.

The two of you went back and forth, trading jabs and dodges, until you managed to pin him against the mat, your hands braced on either side of his head.

Soap froze, his breath hitching as he looked up at you.

The overhead lights cast a halo around you, and for a moment, all he could think about was how close you were, how your weight pressed against him in a way that was far too distracting.

“Gotcha,” you said, grinning down at him.

Soap swallowed hard, his heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the workout. “Aye, you did.”