☆

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Shadows always seemed to become some sort of ghouls at night, stretched deformed figures longing for God knows what, creeping in the very dark. The night was silent, the only perceptible sounds were those of the rain drops harshly hitting the windowpane, as if trying to bring John back into reality, to repress his persistent and wicked thoughts. He was watching through the window, staring at the distant lightning, certainly hoping for his chances to be struck to increase.

Watching... That was all he did. Watch. For the past weeks, his eyes forcibly looked for a very distinguishable figure. One which, no matter how full the halls or rooms were, he would always manage to find. At first, it wasn't a conscious decision... It was more like an habit of his, as if his eyes were trying to track the environment and inadvertently they landed on you.

But lately, it morphed into something different... From a quick glance to a lingering gaze at the mess hall, watching you while you talked with Roach or any other friends. A lingering gaze fixed on you while you were on training. A lingering gaze that made him memorize your exact routine, where you went during the mornings, how long it took you to use the showers, which were the foods you chose the most from the kitchen, at what time you went back to your quarters and even knowing at what exact time your door creaked.

This wasn't right.

But he was already too deep in to back off now. He was infatuated, no... He was desperate, obsessed, he was bewitched by you. There wasn't a moment in which he didn't think of you, in your face, your hair, your smile, your eyes, your hands, your body...

Fuck.

A strong, loud thunder rumbled. Soap was startled enough to get brought back into reality. Bunch of paperwork over his desk. Bunch of responsibilities he had put aside because he was thinking of you...

He hid his face in his hands, not sure if it was because of how annoyed he felt or how ashamed he was of himself... Letting a lass get into his thoughts and control every part of him.

The wooden chair scraped against the floor in a quick, irritating sound. John felt trapped inside his own mind, and he couldn't tolerate it any longer. He walked to the window, staring directly through it and pressing his forehead against the cold glass his skin had to meet.

This wasn't right.

The words repeated in his head, like sharp blades cutting through his flesh. Outside, rain poured endlessly. But he wasn't staring at it, he was staring at the buildings, the quarters. Wondering if you were sleeping already, or if you were at a common area with friends, or if you were making some extra training... Just wondering what the hell were you doing.

If you knew... God, if you knew. If you knew all of the things running in his head, all of the things that haunted him when everything else was silent. If only you had any single idea that you provoked in him such enchantment, such need, such desire... An intense flame that burned him from inside to out. He craved every single part of you.

His hands reached for the windowpane. His hands. The same hands he dreamed of every single night getting tangled in your hair, or grabbing your body with them. Grabbing you, pressing you against a wall, and sticking his fingers inside of you, making you scream his name. He wanted to feel your pulse racing under his mouth, to know that he could make you lose your composure just as much as you had destroyed his. He wondered if you had ever thought of him the way he does with you.

Stop.

Just stop.

He stopped, closing his eyes. He let out a deep breath, trying to arrange his thoughts.

This wasn't right.

"Fuckin' put yourself together, MacTavish" he groaned into the empty room.

He knew he was a mess, he knew his situation was getting worse. He stepped back from the window, now facing his desk and the pile of paperwork gathering on top of it.

He sighed.

He grabbed the jacket hanging on the back of the chair. His body moved to the door, reaching for it and getting into the dark hallways that only knew of the strange ghoul-like figures creeping on each corner.

—

Rain was still pouring, but it was calmer now. Just as John's mind. It was strange, like both were in sync. MacTavish was making some doodles... A few flowers he saw around the gardens, some guns from the armory... Anything to keep his mind busy.

It was late now. All soldiers were, or at least should be, in their quarters sleeping. John expected nothing more than the noise of his own recurrent thoughts beating his peace. But just as quick as he found his new 'distraction', as quick as he left it. He dropped the pen intertwined in his fingers, clearly bored by the activity.

It was around 00:23. He wasn't exactly tired, but he knew he should probably get sleeping. His strength lifted his body up and his feet followed the way his mind had already memorized.

Walking down the desolate hallways, Soap found himself with his shoulders slightly slouched, his thoughts torturing once more. He closed his eyes and within all that darkness, your image gave him light. He remembered one of those days in which his fate had been marked, and not for his liking.

It had been training day. You and another group of soldiers were at the firing range. You were using rifles, your hair was plastered into your forehead from sweat, your jaw was tense from concentration... John had been watching specifically you. He was supposed to be evaluating your performance, but instead, he focused on the way your body moved and how its curves highlighted when you bent down to reload your weapon.

An idea echoed in his head, but he knew it wasn't right. A part of him wanted to refuse, but... A greater part of him didn't. With every uncertain step he took, the shadows in the corners seemed to stretch, deforming themselves against the concrete walls even more. Making fun of him. He was trying so hard to convince himself he was doing a simple patrol, but no. No. His feet knew exactly where he was walking to. He was going to the B block. Your quarters.

"What in the bloody hell are you doin', John?" he questioned himself, not knowing if to back off now.

But his feet insisted.

As he followed the irrational thoughts driving him, he saw on each of the doors a small plastic plaque with a different name written. But he didn't even need to read to know where the hell was yours, because he had memorized it. He did long before he admitted to whatever was happening to him.

He stopped three doors away from yours. He was hesitant.

This isn't right. This isn't right.

He kept repeating to himself in a small hope of making the inner demon controlling him to stop.

"She's probably asleep, anyway..."

His words were completely shut when his eyes adverted the thin line of light getting filtered out from your door. You were awake.

The realization made John's stomach tightened into a knot. He didn't know what to do. He only could think on why were you awake so late, what were you doing at this hour. He pictured you on the edge of your bed, unlacing your boots. Or pulling off your t-shirt, to reveal the warmth of your skin. The thought of your hands moving over your own body to undress made a choked groan catch in his throat.

He wanted to be the one taking those clothes off you. He wanted to use his hands, rough and calloused, to delineate every single inch of you. He wanted to pin you against the wall and bury his face in your neck until he couldn't breathe anything but you. He wanted to feel how warm you were from the very insides. John cursed under his breath, feeling how the heat would move down to just a few centimeters below his belt.

"Stop it. Stop it, you bloody bastard." he called himself out.

John's feet started to drag backward, but a sudden streak of light hit his face harshly. As the door opened, a familiar silhouette appeared. It was you. You weren't wearing the normal uniform Soap was used to, of course. Instead, you were wearing a gray oversized t-shirt that hung loosely off one of your shoulders and a pair of shorts. You were holding a mug in your hands, maybe to grab some water or tea from the kitchen. You stared at him just the way he stared at you. Both showing confusion through your eyes.

"Captain?" you inquired quietly, breaking the stillness of the night.

To say MacTavish felt embarassed was the least. He didn't know what to do or say, he wanted to hide, to disappear into dust. His mouth went dry and his face was visibly pale.

"Lass..." the word from his mouth escaped, coming out as soft as petals from a fallen rose. He wasn't used to call her, or any soldier, nothing more than their ranks or names. But without noticing, the word just escaped his lips.

He cleared his throat trying to compose himself.

"What are you doin' awake at this hour?" he said trying to get his tone to what he normally would sound, but it was just impossible.

"I couldn't sleep... Not with the storm," you said softly. You took a step out of your room. "I could also ask the same to you, sir. Is anything wrong on the base?"

You were getting closer to him, intended or not. But he noticed it. He could see your bare legs, the softness of them, and the way your fingers tightened around the ceramic mug. All driving him insane. He wanted to reach out and feel with his bare hands how soft your legs, your thighs were. He wanted for you to touch him just as you were grabbing the mug.

"No. Nothing." he quickly replied. His gaze wandering all his surroundings not knowing where to land. "Just a quick patrol."

You squinted your eyes. There was something on his words, on his tone, on the way his body twitched... There was something that made you knew there was something going on.

You could only stare at him, knowing there was no point on arguing with the captain. But you could notice the way he was glancing. How his eyes would moved onto your face, then down your neck or bare shoulder, how his eyes would then show a pinch of fear and move all around the place.

"Are you sure everything is alright, captain?"

"Yes, lass..." his voice wasn't exactly like his, it was the voice of the man at the edge of losing his composture.

He wanted to desperately grab you and saciate the hunger you inflicted on him. He wanted to drop down on his knees and beg you to save yourself from him, from what he was becoming and doing in the very dark. "You should get back to bed." his voice said lowly.

"You too, sir."

You said, taking two steps back. You waited for him to leave before shutting your door closed, but he never did. You stared at him in a sort of confusion. His eyes, those beautiful pair of blue eyes, looked down at you as if he were in the verge of tears. As if something inside of him was torturing him. And somehow, it was. You just had no idea you were part of it.

"John," you called his name, something he felt like an electric shock going through his body "are you sure you're alright?"

He slowly moved closer to you. Now, you could feel his heat radiating and crashing with your own. Your breathing became a bit more erratic than before. His hand slowly placed on your cheek, his thumb caressing it like the gentle fluttering of a butterfly.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

You were woken up early in the morning by the soft sound of the alarm coming from your phone under the pillow. You tried to turn it off fast, so you wouldn't wake up the man sleeping next to you. As you turned your head to him, his broad uncovered back faced to you, rest of his body covered in a white blanket. Your hand reached slowly to scratch him gently, but he didn't even flinch.

"He must really be in a deep sleep," you said to yourself. "I shouldn't wake him up, yet..."

Soap was the type of man to have a hard time sleeping, he would spent countless nights wondering how he could stop the clock from ticking it's hands, or asking himself what was wrong with him. Many times you woke up in the middle of the night to found him with a blank, tired stare.

But when he managed to sleep, he would rest like a damn bear just getting into hibernation. Nothing would wake him up, only those sounds that reminded him of the continuous atrocities his military life subjected him to. And even if you could wake him up, you know you wouldn't.

He arrived a few days ago, he had requested a week off from work, knowing a special day was just around the corner. You were excited, of course. Just a week for both of you to cherish each other's company.

About 8 minutes had passed and you were still in bed, staring at his back. It was full of scars, just like his entire body. Each scar told a story not even you knew of, but at least, you were conscious of the pain and sacrifice he must had gone through.

With a sigh, you knew you had to get off bed. Your body made an effort to stand up, grasping how you'd prefer to stay in bed hugging him from behind, just his faint scent getting into your nostrils, feeling his heat on your body.

You dragged your feet to the closet, the sliding door mildly making a screeching sound just to advert that you were awake already. Your eyes scanned through all the clothes searching for the perfect pair for today.

Today was a special day. You wanted to grab something that made you feel attractive, maybe to get a few more compliments from MacTavish's usual set. He never missed an opportunity to tell you how precious you were, and you hoped today wasn't the exception.

As you smiled like a fool in front of your closet, you blinked twice to retrieve yourself from deep reverie, saying goodbye to the sweet frame of Soap pampering you. Unfortunately, it could be a very special day today but you still had responsibilities to take care of, and they wouldn't disappear just for you, even if you wished.

—

The cold water ran down, falling delicately from the showerhead down his sculptured toned body, striking the floor with a rythmic and heavy beat. John liked his showers cold because they reminded him of the peace he always felt when snow began to pour. Or maybe it was because they were a constant reminder that he always needed to be alert.

He stepped out of the bathroom, a tower wrapped around his hips gripping him gently. Water was dripping from his hair onto his face and shoulders, but his thumb just got rid of the few droplets sitting on his eyes and lashes with a swift motion.

He got dressed quickly with whatever pair of clothes he found, he never took the time to rummage through his clothes or assemble them into something so sophisticated. A basic outfit will do.

John sat on the edge of his bed to look at his phone. There were a couple of notifications, mostly work... And then his eyes landed on a simple, quick reminder.

Lassie's birthday. Do not forget.

His eyes squinted a bit. He brought down the notification bar and saw today's date.

It was your birthday.

He rubbed the back of his head, his hand then slowly turning into a fist that later his face would use to rest.

Birthdays never meant anything important to him. He wasn't used to celebrations, or parties, or such things. At most, he would get a piece of cake that Price brought him, but that was it.

Birthdays were constant reminders of how time wasn't forgiving. How every year it was just other scar earned, another bullet shot, and how the world would keep moving even if he was ready or not.

He stopped celebrating his birthday long ago, realizing it was a pathetic waste of time. Maybe because he didn't have family or friends to spend it with. Maybe in the end he realized he had other priorities.

But that was him.

You... You were another case. You had been excited for your birthday for about two weeks prior. You would text and call him eagerly, talking about cake flavors he had no idea they even existed. You sent pictures of party decorations in many colors, perhaps hoping he would read the room and realize you wanted him to set up something nice. And for about a month prior you gave subtle hints on what you wanted to get as a gift.

—

The sound of keys jangling on the other side of the door let MacTavish know you were home already. You entered almost in a rush, you were desperate to see him, hug him, kiss him...

"Aye, lass... I didn't think ye'd be home already..." Soap confessed.

The big smile on your face suddenly dropped. There was nothing. No cake, no gifts, no decorations, nothing. You knew he was a simple man... And that he didn't take birthdays so seriously. But he wouldn't make this to you, right? He had not even congratulated you. Your heart sank in your chest, maybe this was some wicked trick from your mind and you were overthinking. Maybe he was preparing a surprise and all these horrible feelings would disappear soon... At least that's what you hoped for.

"Yeah... I finished everything early." you said softly, trying to not let your voice betray you with the sorrow sentiments swirling inside of you.

"I'm glad, hen."

That was it. That was fucking it? He forgot your damn birthday! Or that's what you were thinking, at least. You were feeling a heavy mix of sadness and anger brewing in your chest, such, that it became noticeable in your eyes and the way you stared at him, not knowing if you wanted to start sobbing or shouting.

"Anything wrong, darlin'?"

"No..." you whispered.

You remained quiet, waiting for anything. But that anything never came.

"I'll go out with some friends... I'll be back later." It wasn't necessarily a lie, but it wasn't completely true either. You were in fact going to see some friends but you just used it as an excuse to avoid him for a while.

You grabbed your car keys and almost sprinted to the door. Of course Soap knew you were pissed, and that you probably assumed he had forgotten your birthday. But... John was really a sneaky man.

—

As you drove back home, you started to think on what bullshit excuse John would come up with. You prepared mentally for a fight, some screaming and how you would insult him.

The past few hours had been cozy enough to try to make you enjoy your birthday. You stayed with your friends and tried to have fun as much as possible, but your mind drifted back to John. You couldn't believe he had forgotten your birthday. Looking down to your cup of coffee, you could only distinguish the faint laughter and chatter from your friends, while your thoughts were messy and hurtful.

Getting back home made you anxious, you didn't want to cross that door and find him either on the couch or bedroom sleeping. But it was either that or sleeping outside, that given the situation the second option felt much better.

With a deep sigh, you entered the house, it was dark and silent, no lights on, no sound from the TV, it almost appeared like no one was there.

You turned on the living room's light and it was damn empty. You left your bag to rest on the couch as you placed your keys on the small table next to the door.

"John?" you called, but there was no answer.

He's probably asleep, you thought, and for his sake it would be better.

You took off your jacket and just threw it for it to land anywhere it wanted, not really caring about making a mess. You walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, or maybe wine, so you could clear some of your thoughts.

As you turned on the lights, your eyes widened as they took in the scene in front of them. There were balloons, confetti, curtains and streamers, all meticulously placed, in various colors. In the center of the wall, a big "Happy Birthday" banner was hanging from corner to corner. The balloons were scattered all over, and there was a cake in the counter with some candles on top. Despite how pretty it looked you could tell the person setting this up struggled because of the crinkles in some of the streamers and curtains.

As you stared, amused, tears were starting to form in your eyes due to the excitement. And if anything couldn't get better, a familiar, sweet voice called your name.

"I didn't think settin' some decorations would be this bloody hard..."

It was John. He had a roll of adhesive tape resting on his wrist and a big frown on his face, he clearly didn't have the time of his life decorating.

You approached him, placing a hand on his chest. Your eyes were bright and were looking at him almost with desperation.

"Ye thought I forgot yer birthday, lassie?" he asked, chuckling. "How would I forget my sweet girl's special day? I would not forgive myself."

You looked up at him, your body moving forward, closer to him. He immediately grabbed you by the waist, keeping you near him, as if he were avoiding you to escape far from him. As you stared at his face, you realized how crazy his charming made you... You craved his lips, his hands, his sweetness...

"You didn't even congratulated me today..."

"Because I was waiting to give ye something really special." he smirked.

You glanced back at the decorations and the cake, he had chosen your favorite colors...

"Look, hen, I know this probably isn't the most good-looking but–"

"It's perfect." you cut him off, smiling. "Thanks, John."

MacTavish smoothly moved his head down to catch your lips in his. Of course you wouldn't be able to reject it, instead you pulled him closer. Your tongue entered his mouth savoring every bit of him that you could. You were able to recognize a weak taste of tobacco from his lips, indicating he had probably lit up a cigar, or two, earlier. You didn't mind, it was something particular of him... Something that made him who he was.

Reluctantly, you had to pull away when you felt him stopping the kiss. He walked fast to the counter and grabbed the cake carefully in his hands. As he approached you distinguished some words on it...

Happy birthday, lassie.

It was covered in candles, exactly your age number... You couldn't help but smile.

John pull out a lighter from his pocket and lit up every single one of them.

"Well, make a wish." He told you softly.

You thought for a second, considering exactly what you wanted. Then, you closed your eyes slowly and blew all the candles.

"So, what was yer wish?" he asked cheekily.

"I can't tell you!" you chuckled. "If I do, it won't come true."

You smiled as your eyes fixed on that rough captain you called your lover. He was settling down the cake, when an idea popped in your head.

"Wait."

You grabbed the lighter Soap had left on the counter earlier and used it to light all of the candles again, then delicately took the cake from his hands.

"It's your turn now, make a wish." you smiled.

"Aye lass it's not necessary." he smirked at you.

"Well it's my birthday, do it!"

"Fine." he resigned with a jokingly sigh.

Soap thought for a few seconds before blowing out every single one of the candles on the cake. When he finished, he smiled at you.

"So... What was your wish?" you inquired curiously.

"You said it must be kept a secret for it to come true." he teased you.

"That's only the case if it's your birthday, and it's not! So you must tell me!"

Soap laughed softly, taking off the cake from your hands and setting it down on the counter again. He approached cautiously near your lips, you could feel his hot breath pouring in your nose.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Bunch of papers scattered all around the desk. A small metal plaque with the words "Capt. MacTavish" graved was poking from all that clutter. His office was a mess. He knew it. Not that he's the tidiest man ever, but even all of whatever that disorder was, really pissed him off.

Still, he wouldn't be cleaning any time soon. He didn't have the strength, nor the mind, nor the desire to work properly as of now. Instead he was sitting on his chair, wandering around ideas and thoughts that didn't seem to help on his mood.

"Cut it, MacTavish." a thought, more like a command to himself, a reprehension.

Just like that, the captain forced himself to stand up and get out from his office. Anyway... He had work to do and if he sat his ass all day in the office either Price or Shepherd would get on his nerves.

Today wasn't as much busy as other days... Soldiers were walking around or sitting in groups playing chess, cards, and all those sort of games. Many others were inside their barracks, a few more were training.

His eyes scanned the place slowly... Moving from left to right in a smooth motion. He distinguished Roach playing a card game with some other soldiers in one of the tables. Wasn't he supposed to be training? Anyway, it's not much of a deal. At least today.

Eventually, and for his goddamn sake, his sight landed on a distant figure that seemed to be sitting on the ground, outside. Her hair swayed with the wind, like an hypnotic dancing tracing invisible promises into the air.

"Shite..." he murmured to himself.

The truth was, and even if he had a hard time admitting it, he felt an unmeasured attraction towards you.

The way you smiled was soft, almost angelical, bringing him warmth whenever his mind betrayed him with all the memories that haunted from the dark. Your eyes were tender, contrasted by a strong gaze full of determination that would make anyone melt. They were a sign of your bravery, your courage... The strength that even he admired, because no matter the situation you wouldn't give up, and that was something few were capable of.

Your lips... Oh, your lips. The same lips he dreamt of tasting, the ones he prayed the Lord to give him a chance to feel with his. Dreaming, no... It wasn't strong enough. Fantasizing. He fantasized on how he would grab those puffy cheeks of yours, taking your face in his hands knowing that most likely he would need to measure his force so he wouldn't break you... Many nights he would roll in bed wondering what it would be to kiss you... Or if someone had done it before.

Geez, MacTavish, you can never leave some nice thoughts to yourself, can you?

The idea of someone else... It icked him, it burned him, it destroyed him. It felt like trying to provoke a beast inside of him and then unleashing it.

But it was stupid, right? He didn't even talk to you, aside from duties. He was just your boss, your captain. That was it.

That was fucking it.

Something about that "just being it" grew an inconceivable anger in him. Not towards you, of course. It was him. He was courageous, strong, nothing ever stopped him from doing anything he wanted. But the hundred times he thought of asking you out, the hundred times he felt frightened. Whenever he contemplated the idea of expressing his feelings, it was like a demon telling him how much he sucked and that he would never be able.

"Soap." a sudden voice stopped his swirl of thoughts, making him blink a couple of times.

It was Price.

"Huh?" it was the only thing MacTavish managed to huff.

"I was talking to you, captain." Price started. "But you seem... Kind of infatuated."

Honestly, Soap had no idea if Price was happy, mad or whatever. His face was unreadable. But what wasn't, was his. He was comically embarassed and it showed.

Like he hadn't enough of that bunch of paperwork and now his boss knew about his tormented state of infatuation...

—

Reluctantly, Soap had to follow Price back to his office. The old man told him something about him being late on half of his paperwork and that he had to get his ass back to work... But lucky him, Price offered his help. Maybe because he has a special place in his heart for Soap, or perhaps because he saw the deteriorated state his friend was getting into...

"Look, nobody likes paperwork, I don't, but it's part of our job. So you got to do it, Soap."

Both of them were filling tons and tons of paper sheets. MacTavish was drifting on his own thoughts while Price just offered his company, making a couple of comments here and there, maybe to bring him back to reality or maybe because the silence was too awkward.

"You know, son, sometimes....."

Soap was working on autopilot, just filling all those papers like he always did. Price's words seemed to be like some background unintelligible noise. This monotony was depressing, he wished something happened, something to give his mind a distraction and hopefully stopping this unpleasant task.

And as if he were God's favorite, a soft brief knock on the door... Before it opened slowly, cautiously.

"Price, sir, some of the new cargo just arrived."

It was you.

His eyes shined so bright even diamonds looked opaque. The pen in his hands slowly lost its grip and fell over some of the uncomplete papers. His face and cheeks were feeling hot, a slight cherry red tinting over. He looked like a little kid getting his favorite candy after a long tiring day.

Everything else on his mind just disappeared, now he only looked at you. You were wearing a gray shirt with some black sweatpants. You had a small notebook in your hands, alongside a pen. And even if you were staring at Price, his heart was about to get out of his chest from all the emotions he was undergoing.

"Thanks, I'll check on it." Price replied.

When you were about to leave, your head slowly turned to Soap, giving him a soft, sweet grin accompanied with:

"Hi, captain."

He nodded, grasping that any word that came out of his mouth would betray him.

You left, closing the door behind you. He wanted to stop you, to tell you, or even command you, to stay. He felt an immense need for you. He couldn't do anything but sigh.

"Know your priorities, captain." Price said.

Soap frowned, squinting his eyes. The fuck he meant? Before he could ask anything, Price stole his words.

"But at least, if you're going to walk around looking stupid like that, make a favor to yourself and talk to her."

With that, Price left the office.

Amazing, what he really needed, his boss knowing about his crush! What is he? Twelve?

But the old man was right. Even if it annoyed him. He really needed to talk to you.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Hah... John MacTavish. John 'Soap' MacTavish. The tough man, the one willing to fight even the strongest men just to prove he was stronger. The man that hadn't shed a tear since his childhood. The captain of his very own Task Force, a brave leader.

Or at least, that's what everyone thought. Instead, he was now laying on his living room's carpet, a bottle of his most expensive Scottish whiskey just fingers aside from him with a full cup ready to be savored by his tongue.

On a nearby table his most prestigious decorations: his Distinguished Service Order, his Conspicuous Gallantry Cross, and the highest one, his Victoria Cross.

Even with all of these, there he was... Sobbing like a pathetic man, his eyes red, swollen. All because of... You.

As he felt the bitter liquid sliding down his throat, his mind wandered back to the hundred thoughts he always revisited. The same memories, the same horrible pain in his chest.

He let out a long, sorrowful sigh.

—

Some time back, he saw you for the first time in a library. He was never a book enthusiast, but that time he felt some kind of... curiosity, maybe. He decided to take a look, it wasn't like he would die touching a book. It was a rainy day, he remembered clearly. Because ever since, rainy nights became his ruin, succumbing him into pain.

He walked around the store, wandering like a lost ghoul and staring at the bookshelves without a single purpose.

"Do you need any help, sir?" a distant voice said. It was a young boy, one of the various workers. Soap shook his head with a faint smile.

"What am I even doing here? I'm not looking for anything..." he thought to himself, chuckling.

His boots stomped around trying to look for the exit, when he suddenly stood upon what he had no idea would be his damn perdition.

A smaller silhouette scanning the shelves with a few books in her hands. He couldn't explain or understand why his eyes immediately locked onto you.

There was something in particular that made him flinch, he just didn't know what. Now he didn't care anymore where the damn exit was. He needed to approach to you.

He would lie if he said he walked with a firm step. His legs were trembling and his feet felt uncertain, as if the signals they were receiving weren't from his brain and rather from somewhere else.

You were about to pay for your books but it would be impossible to ignore the greater figure approaching. A big strong man, whose body seemed to have been carved to perfection instead of trained, his presence noticeable and magnetic. You stared, almost stunned.

Suddenly, he was right in front of you. Confusion was clearly coursing through your entire being.

Soap has always been a handsome man, nothing he didn't know of... But having you stared at him like that made him feel... Weak. A word he hated, no... Despised.

"Excuse me..." you said, your voice was soft, like petals from a dying rose falling slowly to the ground, or that's what he thought.

"I was looking for a book!" he quickly tried to save himself. "But I have no idea where to find it..."

What a fucking pathetic excuse.

You looked even more confused than before.

"Uh... Well you can ask any of the workers. They're very kind." you responded.

Really obvious, right captain?

He stood there looking ridiculously idiotic. You squeezed pass next to his imposing figure. Who would think that man embarrassing himself was the captain to one of the most important taskforces? Not you, at least.

John felt awkward. He wouldn't return to a bookstore in at least 5 years, or more. He walked out fast; outside, the rain was still pouring and he didn't bring an umbrella or even a jacket.

"Godammit, MacTavish." he cursed to himself.

Droplets started covering him... Then soaking him up. He didn't care if his clothes got wet, he didn't care if he caught a cold. He had embarrassed himself and he felt pathetic. While he was debating himself if he should stay a while more under the rain as some sort of punishment or if he should start getting home to hide under his bedsheets, a sweet voice took him out of his torturing trance.

"You're getting wet."

It was you.

You were offering your umbrella to him, slowly and doubtful, even if your eyes had some spark of certainty.

Saying Soap was dying from his insides would be too minimal. He had no idea how he was managing to handle this weird and sudden outburst of emotions.

"Aye... Thanks." his words came out like a tender whisper. "Forgot mine."

"Where you going?" you asked.

"Heading near the lake, I live around there."

You nodded, placing yourself under the umbrella as well, near him. Both walked at a patient pace... Not rushing.

"So what's the book you were looking for?" about some minutes after, you decided to try and make a conversation with him.

"Well... About that... I wasn't looking for a book." he admitted, he tried making his voice sound clear but in fact, it was getting shaky. "I just wanted an excuse to talk to you."

A short silence followed. John was cursing and begging. He had always been straightforward, he had no interest in sweet-talking people. But this time... He felt he just maybe should have said something else... Or worded it differently.

"It was really obvious." you laughed in a light-hearted way. "You could have talked to the attendants and still chose to ask me, not so subtle."

John felt embarrassed. He was about to say something when you continued talking, your words making him freeze on sight.

"It was cute."

Cute. It was cute.

It was cute.

John wanted to throw himself to the ground because his legs were shaking, he wouldn't be able to continue standing. For the first time he felt he couldn't support his own weight, as if his legs would become jelly and the rest of his body rock.

—

That was one of the many encounters you two had. Lossless, quick and subtle encounters that would never go passed calling each other cute or slight hand brushes.

He wanted to build the courage to go further, to even express his feelings towards you. You made him mad, crazy, insane, all at once. He needed you in ways he couldn't understand and he never had expected to feel.

But he was scared.

For the first time, the brave captain, the fearless man, the one who fought entire battalions, who never felt scared of losing his own life, was struggling in dread and disdain because he loved someone.

He couldn't understand why this was taking a huge toll on him. In his mind, he didn't feel enough, he thought he had no chance at all.

He had been avoiding you for the past weeks; no calls, no messages, nothing. He locked himself in his own house so he would either die alone or force himself to stop this consuming feelings, whichever happened first.

As he tossed and turned around the floor, while he heard the rain poured outside, a new voice message arrived.