How dare you hurt me like this?!? But also give me the Soap and Moon version and break my heart more
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” You ask him, you don’t have a right to ask him. You haven’t been the warmest towards Soap, but he’s been chasing your skirt the last few weeks. You thought you’d at least get something. Not a text from Goose asking you to swing by. He hadn’t even been downstairs to greet you, too busy getting ready to leave to bother with bothering you.
“I thought you’d be happy to see me gone,” His joke hurts. You should be happy he’s leaving, it’s one less annoyance in your day, but you’re not. You cross your arms over your chest, shrug when you feel your shoulders tighten.
“How long have you-” You don’t know what to say. How long has he known? How long has he had his orders? When did he decide not to tell you? To just leave without a word.
“A week or so,” Soap zips his suitcase closed, and you twist your fingers in your skirt. You stare at the floor, the old wood boards creek under your feet. “They never give us much notice, me and Gaz’ll be-” He waves a hand, “-somewhere, by tomorrow.”
“That’s it?” You ask.
“That’s it.” He sighs. His shoulders hunched, his hands on his suitcase holding himself up. You don’t know why it hurts so badly to hear him say it. That’s it. There’s no more to say. There’s nothing to be done. Your heart clenches in your chest.
“Goose is going to miss you,” I’m going to miss you, you don’t say.
Soap swallows, you don't look at him. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be a soldier, all my life this is- this is it, this is all I’ve wanted to do.” You grip your skirt tighter, you don’t like this conversation. “I’m good at it, it’s where I belong,” He sounds like he’s reminding himself.
“You’re a good horse trainer,” You try. You hate how your voice sounds, bargaining with a man that’s done nothing but make your life more difficult for weeks. He rounds on you, frustration in his voice as he grabs your shoulders.
“Dammit I’m trying to-” He cuts himself off, takes in your wide eyes and the tremble in your lip, and exhales. Soap closes his eyes, leans down to rest his forehead against yours. “I’m trying to make this easy for you,” He admits quietly, “Why do you have to make everything so hard?”
You keep quiet, you don’t know what to say. You don’t know. You just do, you’ve never known how to take the easy route, never been able to just say what you want to say. You’ve never had someone care so much about that before. Your silence speaks volumes. It always does.
He pulls away from you, takes his height back before you can ask him not to. "You probably wouldn't call me if I asked, would you?" Soap says, breaking the silence.
"I might pick up," you mumble, "if you called me."
"Yeah?” He smiles. He’s a familiar warmth, one you’re going to miss. You nod, keep your eyes on the bedroom wall so you don’t have to see the knowing look in his eyes. Soap’s fingers tip your jaw so he can kiss your cheek, turn you to catch the edge of your lips. “You’ve been busy, I didn’t have a moment to tell you. I’m sorry, hen.”
You suppose that’s fair, you’ve been running booze all over the county for the last few days. You’re lucky you saved the ranch for last or you wouldn’t have caught him. Lucky Goose sent you up to get him.
“You better come home in one piece,” You tell him, and he laughs.
“I will. I’ll be quick, you won’t even notice I’m gone.” You will notice, you already notice when he isn't around. He's worked his way into your space so effectively, so quickly, that you don't know how you wouldn't notice the Soap shaped hole he leaves.
You turn to catch his eye, the sadness clouding his usually brilliant blues. His thumb strokes your cheek, unwilling to let you go. You don't try to make him, leaning into the touch just enough for him to know you care. Outside someone honks the truck's horn. You suppose that's it then.
"Bye Johnny," you hope it's not for too long. You can't have his watery smile be your last good look at him.
It seems like Soap can't have that either, because he tips your head back and kisses you. Quick and chaste. You hardly get to enjoy it, the warmth, the soft press of Soap's lips against yours, the scent of his aftershave, before he's pulling back. Its the platonic ideal of a goodbye kiss. The sort of kiss that leaves you wanting more, that makes you wish he wasn't going anywhere.
"I'll see you soon, love." He whispers, and you have to leave before you beg him to stay.
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