Reliant ~ [John Soap MacTavish]

XXII. Quite Alike

Our footsteps echo in sync as we make our way through the empty hallways, the rhythm of our movement creating a soothing backdrop to our thoughts. The comforting silence is a welcomed one, and I can sense that Soap, like me, appreciates the quietude that fills the space between us.

As we approach the door to my room, Soap's voice pierces the calm with reassurance, his words wrapped in genuine concern. "I'll have a word with Price. We can make this place more comfortable for you." His voice carries an undertone that hints at a perceptive observation.

I can't help but wonder if my momentary frown gave away more than I intended. I try to keep my response light, not wanting to trouble him further. "It's not that it's uncomfortable," I mumble, contemplating how to best convey my feelings. "There's just something about it..."

"Don't worry. I'll try to make some changes. I noticed it last time already."

"Thank you."

"Of course, Alex," he replies with a soft sincerity.

Soap enters the room alongside me, and as the door falls shut behind us, I let myself fall down on the somewhat uncomfortable bed. "You know... I think Jack Skellington might be warming up to me a little."

Soap snickers softly, his teeth showing in a genuine smile. "You think?"

"Yeah," I say, leaning back on my elbows as I look up at him. "I think we're quite alike."

He presses his lips together, squinting a bit before he speaks. "You know what... There might be some truth to that statement, the more I think about it."

I respond with a soft chuckle, more to myself than anything else.

Soap, ever attentive, quickly shifts his focus to my wound. "Your cut healing alright?"

"Uhm," I think out loud, pushing myself up again. "I think so. I can't really see it."

"Do you mind if I take a look?"

"Sure. Go ahead," I sit near the edge of the bed, turning my body sideways so that he can sit behind me, and so he does. Pulling my hair to the side, I wait for the moment his hands will touch my skin.

The moment they do, goosebumps immediately form on my skin. I bite down on my lip, doing my best to suppress the sharp intake of breath as he inspects the wound.

His fingers on my skin, warm and firm, bring a peculiar mix of sensations, making me suddenly aware of his physical presence. My heart quickens, and I hope he doesn't notice my slightly flushed cheeks.

Thank god he's behind me...

"Everything looks fine," Soap finally says, not withdrawing his hand just yet.

There's a lingering moment of silence between us, a subtle electricity in the air.

"Thanks," I murmur silently, carefully waiting for something else to happen.

More silence ensues, briefly disrupted by my own breath catching in my throat as Soap's hand unexpectedly touches my shoulder.

I don't move away, which I would have had it been anyone else but him. His fingers glide down my arm, tracing the rough skin that had been through too much already.

"You're not afraid of scarring a little, are you?" Soap practically purrs.

His change in demeanor momentarily leaves me flustered, and I need a few seconds to compose myself before offering a simple response. "No," I hum, my voice barely above a whisper. "Can you tell?"

Soap's hand continues its gentle exploration of my scars, moving with a deliberate slowness that makes my heart race. I can feel his warm breath on the nape of my neck, his presence enveloping me in a trance.