Soup

The building was quiet. It was evening, and many had returned from a difficult mission. Distant footsteps and the hum of fluorescent lights could be heard from the hallway.

A soft snore could be heard coming from Soap's barracks. He was very tired, having run hard in the field. You were also tired, but you couldn't sleep. The silence in the corridors made you uneasy because of this. Putting on your favorite hoodie, you wandered through the empty, endless expanses of your base.

You passed Soap's barracks and heard him snore. Chuckling quietly to yourself, you opened the door and stepped inside. The Scotsman had settled comfortably on the bed, his limbs spread wide across the soft sheets.

Envious of his sleep, you sat on the edge of the bed and studied his face. The bed sagged under your weight, creaked in denial, and Soap's snoring stopped.

You froze, afraid you'd disturbed your comrade's sleep. He didn't, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the bed. You found yourself beneath the Scotsman's massive frame. The sergeant's hand rested on the small of your back, your legs tangled, but his weight created a pleasant pressure on your body, like a heavy grandmother's blanket.