Soup

You tried to break through his wall—with jokes, smiles, glances. But in response, there was only steel in his blue eyes. He pulled away, as if you were a threat, not love.

Today, seeing his tired smile after the task, you found the strength to approach...

— "Soap... John... Can we talk?"

He sighed heavily, looking past you, at the diagram of the latest operation. His face, this time, was serious.

— "Listen..." — he ran his hand over the back of his head, — "You can't do this. You understand, right?"

"What's wrong? Feeling?" you blurted out, and traitorous tears welled up in your eyes. "I don't understand! What have I done?"

He finally looked at you, and his gaze was filled not with pain, but... with regret. The regret of a commander for an inexperienced recruit.

"First, the Charter," his voice was harsh, like a command on the parade ground. "OTG-141. We are soldiers. I am your sergeant. Romance in our line of work is not just a weakness, it is a mortal risk for the entire squad. We violate the chain of command and we put everyone at risk. Captain Price will throw us both to hell, and he will be right."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

— "And secondly..." — and here his tone softened, becoming gentler, which hurt even more. — "You're twenty. And you still have your whole life ahead of you. And for me..." — he grinned, but there was not a drop of humor in that grin. — "I need peers. People my age. In my field."