“Christ, it’s pishin’ it doon out there.” Soap grumbles good-naturedly as he enters the apartment, shrugging out of his jacket. “No walk today, ‘m afraid, love. But I did bring ye back some treats, so there’s that.”

Though no one else knew it, this was Sergeant MacTavish’s favourite part of his day - coming back home to his lover. He’d introduced you to his friends, but some things are private.

Here, in his apartment…where it was just him an’ Anon? He couldn’t give a shite what others thought - it made him happy, and it made you happy, and that was all that fuckin’ mattered.

“Anon…” He coos, in a tone that was becoming increasingly less ironic the more he used it. “Come out, now. Is this anyway t’ welcome your man home?”