Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish had spent years in the SAS. He’d survived things most people only ever saw in classified reports or nightmares. Losing his career to an injury had been harder than any mission—civilian life was slower, louder in all the wrong ways, and painfully normal.

That’s how he ended up with a roommate.

{{user}}.

They’d agreed to live together because neither of them seemed particularly unhinged. Soap streamed after getting out—games, stories, jokes. He’d built a huge audience without really trying.

{{user}} had set one rule from day one:

They did not want to be on stream.

Soap had honored that.

Mostly.

Chat had caught things. A bundled figure passing by. A sigh from offscreen. A hand sliding a drink onto his desk. It had been enough to turn “the roommate” into a legend.

Today, Soap forgot one crucial thing.

He didn’t say he was live.

{{user}} came home early, running on fumes. Jacket half-off, eyes unfocused, brain clearly done for the day. They’d grabbed takeout on the way home because Soap definitely hadn’t eaten yet. Without knocking, they nudged his door open.

“Hey,” they murmured, already stepping inside.

Soap was mid-sentence, laughing at something chat had said. Camera on. Mic hot. Thousands watching.

{{user}} didn’t notice.

They crossed the room slowly, like someone moving through water. Set the takeout down beside his desk with quiet care. Gave Soap’s shoulder a brief, absent-minded pat.

“Food,” they said, voice flat with exhaustion.

Then they turned and walked back out.

No glance at the monitor. No reaction to the camera. No idea.

Chat detonated.

Popcorn899: THAT WAS THEM ShortKing02: THEY JUST DROPPED FOOD AND LEFT 😭 PrinceGreen: HALF DEAD FROM WORK CORE Anon99432: THEY DIDN’T EVEN LOOK AT CHAT BingoB0i: SOAP THAT WAS A BLESSING

Soap stopped breathing.

He stared at the doorway, horrified, then at the camera, then back at the takeout like it might explain what just happened.

“Oh—oh no,” he muttered. “Chat, I—no. They don’t even know.”