Work Text:
soap has always been one to notice the little details.
if anything, he’s rather proud of it. he likes being the one to notice the details that can be smoothed over and ensure a plan to go flawlessly, he loves it when he’s the one to point out something cool before anyone else sees it, he just likes how observant he is.
and when he meets yuri, well. that’s something interesting.
no, not because yuri has a personality so opposite from his (if soap was the sun, yuri was void of space - only lit by faraway balls of burning hot gasses. if soap was the colors of a sunset, yuri was a night sky so cloudy you couldn’t see a single star or find where the moon was) but rather because he was built on little details.
the points on the tattoos of stars. the letters on his knuckles that were so often covered by gloves. the silent and constant awareness of who was in the room with him. how he could gather information from conversations around him without skipping a beat in focusing on what he was doing. the little curious head tilt that vaguely reminded soap of a curious puppy. the faint tugs at the corners of his mouth whenever slipped and fell and got up laughing.
yuri was... beautiful. it was like every atom that made him up was its own little detail and soap was fascinated. he knew yuri wasn’t easy to get close to - that much was obvious - but the way those steel-grey eyes bore right through his own and that silently knowing look only made him crave the knowledge of every little one of yuri’s habits more.
of course, it is yuri. he didn’t take kindly to it at first. he doesn’t like people poking and prodding at him, trying to understand how he works. all it does is serve as an awful reminder to bruises and screaming and painful hands grabbing his face and impacts that made his head spin and blades digging into his skin and then deeper, but something about soap rings differently. he ignores it, because he thought makarov was different too.
soap, for his credit, backs off when he realizes he’s pushing too hard. backs off, and when he comes back, it’s a little more cautious. careful. not dainty, certainly not delicate. he’s sure yuri will snap at him when he steps on a line that is not to be touched (and he does, a few times) and he’s prepared to step off of it and apologize and make note not to do it again.
and oh god above, yuri is exactly as wonderful and spirited and lovely as soap expected. he loves to read any book about history or fantasy worlds, and he dozes off all too easily to the sound of the rain, and he knows tips and tricks for the oddest things (how to get your gun to make that clicky noise when you reassemble it that makes you more confident that you put it back together right, how to properly and very efficiently sharpen your pencil with a blade of any sort, reasons your engine in any vehicle might not start).
he rubs his fingers against his palms or the leather of his gloves when he’s focusing or after he touches something prickly. he tilts his head back a little bit rather than just directly side to side when he cracks his neck, and he holds his breath when he stretches his arms over his head. his eyes squeeze shut when he yawns, and his tongue curls like a cat’s when he yawns with his mouth open. he has extensive knowledge of berries you can and can’t eat in the wild.
soap is smitten.
and yuri might be starting to catch on, but soap doesn’t mind. he doesn’t mind at all. he can wait. he will wait. no matter how long it’ll take.
as long as yuri is okay with coming to him when he’s ready.