sketches - soap

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Music blasted through the wired earphones that were connected to my phone. My eyes were closed as I tried to relax and hopefully sleep. I was trying to drown everything out. The world was loud and scary, and in this line of work, there are sometimes very few things one can do to escape. My thoughts which were usually calm and collected while on missions seemed to race during off-duty hours.

I had learned quickly that music was usually something that could get everything that seemed to scream at me to be quiet. If I turned up the volume loud enough, everything else would be quiet.

Price would always scold me. His eyes would narrow and his brows knit together in concern like a father's would. With a stern voice, he would make some claim about losing my hearing before the age of 40, which was probably true.

As much as he was a stern father, I would act like his stubborn teenager. Rolling my eyes I'd shout back that I couldn't hear him because my music was too loud.

Every once in a while though, typical coping mechanisms didn't seem to work. Like right now. I had been tossing and turning in my cot for about an hour now and was getting frustrated that I couldn't relax or sleep. I lay on my back, face pointing to the ceiling, but not opening my eyes.

I always trusted my gut, it had never failed me before. I had trained myself to be a light sleeper, jumping at every little sound, reading people to determine if they should be trusted or not, and feeling when eyes were watching me.

And I could feel eyes watching me. I opened my eyes and let my head fall to the side to see Soap scribbling in his journal. He was the only other person in the room, having been there before I walked in. I looked at him for a moment before he looked up at me. His eyes widened for a split second before his head snapped back down, a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks like he had been caught.

I smiled. I sat up and pulled the earphones from my head. I paused the music, realizing it was so loud that it could still be heard clearly through the tiny speakers.

"Soap?" I questioned.

"Yeah?" He mumbled. He didn't look up from his journal, still seeming embarrassed that he got caught looking at me.

"Were you staring at me?"

"No." He answered quickly, but he couldn't make eye contact. For someone who is so cool under pressure, having literally been in the line of fire, and probably considered to be one of the most dangerous people in the world, he's really shit at lying.

"You're such a liar." I laughed at him. I swung my legs over the side of the cot and stood up, stretching my arms. I walked over to him and sat on the end of his cot. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

His eyes finally flickered up to meet mine and we just sat for a moment in silence. I wasn't going to pressure him to tell or show me, but I'd be lying if I wasn't curious. Ever since I joined the 141 I had always noticed him scribbling in that damn journal. He had been a quarter of the way through it when the task force was created, but now after about a year and a half, he was getting to the end of the book.

"You don't have to show me if you don't want. I was just curious." I told him. I looked at him for a moment longer before standing up. I turned to leave, opening my mouth to ask if he wanted anything to eat, but his hand grabbing my own stopped me in my tracks.

"Wait-"

I turned back to him, tilting my head and indicating for him to go on. I slowly sat back on the bed and observed his face. He was usually so confident, borderline cocky. Always quick with sarcastic quips and funny jokes, wanting to make everyone smile or laugh. But now he seemed so nervous like he was deciding if this was a good idea or not.

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