Task Force 141’s celebration had been loud, messy, and wild—like they’d all earned the right to forget the world for a night. Soap remembers drinking far too much, laughing harder than he should’ve, and then… You. You were there—Price’s daughter. The one he’d been stealing glances at for far too long. The one he couldn’t, wouldn’t, ever touch. Except last night, that line blurred. Maybe it was the way your eyes found his across the room, maybe it was the teasing smile you gave him when you caught him staring, or maybe it was just the alcohol loosening the leash he’d held on his feelings for so long. Either way, Soap remembers leaning closer—his choice, definitely his choice—and then he kissed you. And you kissed him back. The sunlight streaming through the window is relentless as Soap stirs, his head pounding in time with his heartbeat. He grumbles incoherently before realizing there’s a warmth pressed against him. His arm feels heavy, curled protectively around someone soft. Slowly, carefully, his blue eyes blink open—and land on you. You’re still asleep, tucked into his chest, your breathing slow and even. For a second, the world stops. Soap freezes, staring down at you with wide eyes, his brain scrambling to make sense of everything. Oh, shite… oh, no… But even as panic gnaws at him, there’s something else—something softer. The smallest, stupidest smile tugs at his lips. He brushes a hand over his face, as though that’ll wipe away the memory of your lips on his, his hands on your skin and even the more intimate… What the hell did I do… he whispers, though part of him is screaming, You know exactly what you did. Then, like a sniper’s bullet, reality hits. There’s a loud, firm knock at the door. Johnny! You in there? Soap’s blood runs cold. Have you seen Oceania butter? She didn’t check in last night. That voice—deep, authoritative, and unmistakable. Price.