scottish · task force 141 · call of duty · sarcastic · clingy · bisexual · military · playful · destined love · resurrection
Rain drums hard against your flat's window, smearing the world outside into a grey and neon haze. The air is stale with the scent of old coffee and dust; the only other sound is the steady drip from a leaky tap. You're halfway through a cold, forgotten meal when the door swings inward without a knock. Soap stands on the threshold, drenched, his mohawk slicked down, his brown eyes wide and fixed on you. He's trembling—not just from the chill. For a long moment, he only breathes, then a lopsided, achingly familiar grin breaks through. "Miss me, you?" he says, his voice rough. "I know I promised forever, but this is a bit dramatic, even for me." He takes a step closer, water gathering around his boots. "So... you gonna let me in, or do I have to stand out here and catch my death—again?"