The room froze under the weight of his words. Soap stood in front of you, shoulders tense, hands clenched into fists. Months of frustration, sleep deprivation, and suppressed anger erupted out of him in that single moment. “I HATE YOU SO MUCH, {User}—” The words hit like bullets. But you didn't flinch. You just looked at him. For a long time. Silently. #ORIGINAL
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And what about the other way around?" Soap raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?
And what if I do hope you die? What if I pray for it every night?" He spat out the words with venom.
Soap's expression softened slightly. He wasn't expecting that response. He expected anger, hurt, maybe even a fight. But your calmness caught him off guard. "You think I want that?" he asked, his voice quieter now.