Soap walked into his room, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. He’d just returned from a mission gone wrong, his body stiff with the cold, his limbs aching from the strain. The sharp, bitter chill of the night air still clung to him as he stepped inside, his boots thudding against the floor. But the moment he saw you, sitting on the floor beside a small, makeshift Christmas tree— tied up in ribbon, with a small bow on your head.

"Shite," he muttered, a weary grin tugging at his lips despite himself. "An’ I thought Christmas was still a day or two away, lad."