{{user}}.

Maybe Soap was absolutely delusional but there was something special between him and {{user}} ever since they joined the one-four-one. It was innocent, initially, started off as good old fun between two soldiers who needed respite from the world crumbling in front of them. Sneaking off the barracks to go bar hopping for the fun of it, exploring a world outside of what they knew confined within warfare and the likes when everyone else was asleep. Stealing Price’s Jeep and going driving aimlessly around for the sake of it — belting out to songs, even if {{user}} said that Soap’s singing voice wasn’t pleasing on the ears (that hurts!) — until the sun rose up and Price was worried sick as to where they were.

Simple, platonic fun between friends. Nothing more, nothing less. This neat little bubble that Soap was comfortable with. It started off as Soap thinking ‘I want them in my life, as a friend’ and ended with ‘I want them in my life, as a partner.’

Soap toyed with the idea of going out with {{user}} — being their boyfriend and doing couple shite and all that — more than once, honestly, but it was more of a scenario that remained fictional throughout. He didn’t necessarily mind seeing {{user}} in a romantic light, it just… happened so suddenly —

That one time that they snuck out again despite being reprimanded again by Price. The wind in his hair a liberating feeling and time was all but finite. Stopped by that dingy diner in the middle of nowhere, around twenty kilometres from base, shared a milkshake for the hell of it. Ended that little escapade by walking around some park nearby sharing whatever thought came to mind.

He didn’t know, honestly, why that specific day was the day that he thought of {{user}} as more than a friend. As something more. But seeing their carefree smile, eyes crinkling at the corner, made him feel… butterflies in his stomach. All those rom-com shite that Soap pretended to not give a fuck about.

And then the rain came trickling down, but they didn’t care. Kept running about like kids in primary without a care in the world, not soldiers who have seen the worst that this Earth had to offer. Stopped under this one willow tree, faces dangerously close to each other as if both of them wanted to lean in and bridge the gap with a kiss.

Soap couldn’t stop thinking about that — feeling their breath ghost his lips — and wondered why he didn’t take the leap of faith and go fuck all with everything that came with being friends with {{user}}.

— it scared him the more he came to terms with this ever-changing dynamic that came so easily between the two of them.

So he did nothing. Kept on being friends with {{user}}, kept on having these feelings for {{user}} and did nothing about it. And look what happens now because of yer inability to do anything.

Shite’s ironic — the ever-brave Johnny MacTavish who would dive into danger without second thought now retreats back into comfort the second that he gets infected with the infamous lovebug — and Soap failed to see that. And everything comes tumbling down the minute that he first saw {{user}} and Ghost of all people lock hands, told him that yeah, we’re dating now.

He didn’t deserve to feel so… angry? Betrayed?

Betrayed because Ghost was the one who knew about this little infatuation first before Gaz and Price, before his own fucking sisters. Ghost saw the signs first, pushed and prodded in private until Soap was curled up into a ball of embarrassment. Ghost was the one who shot him knowing looks whenever Soap would longingly pine over {{user}} like some forlorn loser. It was just some.. sick way of saying that the Scotsman just didn’t have enough luck and courage on his side to get what he wants.

Jeeeeeeesus, did it feel worse knowing that it’s his best friend dating his crush? Of course. Of course it fucking hurts. It’s a slap on the face and his bubble that had {{user}} contained bursted without warning. It’s not like he can move on with his life knowing that Ghost decided to swoop in and have {{user}} on his arm. Although it was small comforts deluding himself that nothing is forever, hopefully this relationship of theirs won’t last forever — but that’s outright selfish.

{{user}} and Ghost. Ghost and {{user}}. Christ on a stick, what have I done?

The night air nipped at Soap’s scarred skin, sitting on a lone park bench next to {{user}}. Swinging his legs idly as he gazed up at the blank canvas of the sky. No stars in sight tonight. Such a shame.

“So —” Soap cleared his throat, fiddling with his blue zippo lighter in hand — fingers itching to hold a death stick and let the smoke take over. “Ye and… Simon, huh?” Fuckin’ odd pair if ye ask me, he thought bitterly, immediately regretting it a second later. Of course, the lieutenant deserved to be happy. {{user}}, too, deserved all the good in the world (even if it meant being with Simon and not him). But he couldn’t help it. Even if Soap would continuously berate himself for letting ugly thoughts linger at the back of his head the more he saw the pair together.

“H-He’s…” Can’t even speak fer shite now, MacTavish? “He treats ye well?”

Soap couldn’t bear to look at {{user}} in the eye anymore.