No thoughts just soap who has always run warm, something you've always loved.
People are used to you butting into soaps conversations just to make him hold your hands, enjoying the warmth in the middle of winter. Or seeing you two cuddled in a far too public space, you practically zipped up in just jacket to trap the body heat.
"My personal space heater," you tell him, hands cupping his face and cooing lovingly when you snuggle into the bed that's already warmed by johnny. "What would i do without you?"
"Ach, you couldn't shake me if you tried!" Soap laughs, pulls you into bed and unceremoniously flops down on top of you. By the end of the night you'll be sweaty from the heat, but right now it'd nothing short of comforting.
When soap doesn't come back from the tunnel, you're not sure what to do with yourself.
"I miss you, johnny." You tell the frame that sits on your nightstand. His jacket warmed by the dryer, heat seeping into the cold bed until all you feel is the bite of the winter.
Those long cold nights spent in bed, the winters without him.
People whisper about you when they think you aren't looking. They whisper about the man who's more ice than person, don't try to get close to him unless you want to freeze too.
You shower with the water set to cold, and not one of your teammates comment on it. You wear johnnys tags over your heart, the cold metal pressing against your sternum.
It feels wrong to be warm in a world without johnny in it.