Work Text:
Business trip has never been a pleasant thing. And it was just extra hard when you had to leave while your sweet husband happened to be at home on holidays.
You sighed, zipped up your bag, and left with Soap clinging to your sleeve like a sad puppy.
Three days later, he was miserable. Ghost invited him for a drink. He said no.
All he did was text you—too many messages in a row.
"I'm bloody dyin' here without ye, lass."
(And other similar ones.)
---
In the end, things went far more smoothly than expected. You decided to return home a day early and give Soap a surprise.
The night was deep and quiet.
Knock knock knock.
Footsteps approached from inside, followed by Soap's sleepy voice:
"Eh...? I dinnae remember orderin' takeaway...?"
The door opened. He stood there with messy mohawk hair, staring at the stranger at his doorstep.
You are home.
You were held in hands by a professional. And they came by to tell you about what happened. So due to an accident of experiment, you were accidentally turned into a hamster. And now when Soap opened the door, they explained things to him and said they didn't know when you would turn back. But right now, this little ball of fur was his wife. They carefully handed you to him and left.
---
Soap looked down at the small hamster cupped in his hands, completely bewildered at this turn of events. His brain took a moment to process everything.
"Bloody hell...."
He gingerly scratched behind the hamster's ears, feeling its soft fur. A mix of disbelief and concern filled his voice.
"Lass, is that really ye in there...?"
You nuzzled your fuzzy little head against his finger and stared at him, clearly recognizing who he was.
---
Soap's heart melted as the little hamster nuzzled against his finger. He gently brought the tiny animal closer to his face, his expression a mix of shock and tenderness.
"Bloody hell... it is ye," he murmured.
He couldn't believe that this adorable hamster was actually you. He gently caressed your tiny form with his fingers, a warm smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"I never knew I'd be playin' husband to a hamster," he chuckled affectionately.
You made some little noises to protest and nibbled on his finger.
---
"Oy! Watch the fingers, hen!"
Soap pulled back slightly, laughing as the tiny hamster nibbled him with clear sass.
"Aye, still got that temper too---no mistakin' this is my wife. Possessive even as a bloody rodent."
He brought you close again, whispering: "Alright, lass. We'll figure this out. But no chewin' on Ghost if he comes by... deal?"
You huffed, not listening to him. And you used your tiny paw to pat the ring on his finger, clearly upset. You lost yours when you turned into a little mouse.
---
Soap noticed your tiny paw patting his ring, and realization hit him. He chuckled softly.
"Oh, ye miss yer ring, hen?"
He gently nuzzled his finger against your little head, his touch both tender and playful.
"Aye, I reckon it's a bit too big for a wee hamster."
He paused, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous idea.
"No worries---I've got just the thing..."
You didn't know what was on his mind but it couldn't be good. So you nibbled on his ring, leaving tiny little teeth marks on it.
---
"Oi! That's a limited edition wedding band, ya fuzzy menace!"
Soap pulled his hand back with exaggerated horror, squinting at the tiny teeth marks now decorating his ring.
"Ye know what? Now we match---yer all bitey, I'm all scarred. Perfect."
He grinned down at you, utterly charmed by your stubborn little protest.
"Don't fret, hen. I'll get ye a proper wee ring. Might need tae consult a jeweller... or a blacksmith... or Ghost with a paperclip."
He winked. "Won't be long before yer back in human form---bossy as ever an' tellin' me off fer drinkin' too much whisky again."
You rubbed your belly with your little paw, clearly telling him that you were hungry so you were extra grumpy.
---
"Ah, now it all makes sense."
Soap raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with mock revelation.
"Ye're not just a hamster---ye're a hangry hamster. And we all know what happens when yer like this..."
He carefully scooped you up and started toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath.
"Bloody dangerous creature... could take down an entire squad if denied snacks. Aye, I've seen it happen."
Setting you gently on the counter, he rummaged through cupboards.
"Sunflower seeds? Crackers? Or---God help me---cherries?"
He paused. "Ach... did ye just smell like cherries before or is that the hamster brain playin' tricks on me?"
You were frustrated that you couldn't talk right now. And you stamped your little feet on his palm as you sniffed around.
---
Soap chuckled at your cute little foot-stomp, feeling the tiniest taps against his palm. Despite your grumpy expression, he couldn't help but admit you were adorable.
"Aye, there's that fierce temper, even if it's all squished down into a wee rodent now. Yer lucky I find ye cute, or I'd toss ye out for bitin' my ring."
He rummaged through the kitchen pantry, a smirk on his face.
"Now... what do tiny, bossy, and hangry hamsters eat...?"
Your little eyes lit up when he took you past the fridge. You saw a slice of cake. You poked him with your little nose and gestured eagerly to it.
---
"Cake? Really , hen? At a time like this---ye're thinkin' with yer belly again."
Soap crouched down, peering into your tiny, pleading eyes as you nudged his hand toward the fridge. He sighed dramatically, shaking his head.
"Ye were just turned inta a hamster by mad scientists an' yer first request is... cake ?"
He popped open the fridge and eyed the slice---cherry-infused frosting glistening under the light. A knowing smirk tugged at his lips.
"Ach... course it's cherry. Smelled it on ye before, now I know why."
He carefully cut a crumb-sized piece and placed it in your paws. "There. One bite fer one nibble-free minute o' peace. Deal?"
You enjoyed your little crumb. Although it looked like a full hamster-sized cake in your paws. You nuzzled his fingers as you enjoyed the sweetness but were a bit upset you could only eat up so much. You stared at the rest of that giant cake and sighed.
---
Soap watched as you nibbled on the tiny slice of cake with such gusto, it might as well be a mountain. He chuckled softly, finding the sight endearing despite the bizarre situation. He noticed your longing stare at the rest of the cake and sighed.
"Aye, I know that look---the one that says 'more, please,'" Soap said, his voice still tinged with humour. "But ye can't have the whole bloody cake. It's not exactly hamster-sized, ye know."
You sighed again and lay down on his palm, enjoying feeling full again. His palm bore the familiar warmth and smell of him. You were utterly relaxed there and clearly had no intention of moving.
---
Soap couldn't help a smile as he watched you lie down, contented in his palm. Your comfort sparked a mix of affection and amusement within him.
"Ach, ye really like it there, don't ye?"
He chuckled softly, admiring your tiny form. The warmth of your body contrasted with your feisty spirit, making his heart ache for his human wife. He gently stroked your soft fur, his touch gentle and familiar.
"Yer still the same, in any form."
At your regular night routine, you were supposed to snuggle up for some silly TV, but no snuggle when you were this tiny. So under your insistence, you climbed onto his head and stayed in his hair. Much better sight up there.
---
Soap watched as you clambered onto his head, trying not to laugh at the absurd sight. Your determined climb, scaling his scalp until you settled amongst his Mohawk, was both hilarious and strangely endearing.
"Aye, of all places, ye choose my head."
He chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he looked up, barely able to see you perched there, nestled in his hair. He reached a hand up, hesitating for a moment before gently patting you.
"Comfy up there, lass?"
You made some soft noises of contentment. As the silly show went on, you drifted off in his hair.
---
Soap stayed perfectly still, not wanting to disturb you as soft little snores rumbled from his scalp. He smirked at the tiny weight on his head, warm and quiet now.
"Ah, so that's how it is," he whispered. "Use me as yer personal hamster bed an' fall asleep durin' the best part."
He leaned back into the couch, careful not to jostle you. The show played on---bright colours and loud noises---but Soap didn't care. His gaze softened.
"Sweet dreams, wee monster," he murmured fondly. "I've got ye. No rollin' off this fortress o' hair."
One hand gently rested near his temple just in case.
The tricky part came when he decided to go to bed. He considered where to place you. You were too tiny to just lay on the same spot in bed as before.
---
Soap carefully scooped you off his head and cradled you gently in his palm, studying your tiny form. The question crossed his mind---how in the world would he handle your nighttime routine? Your usual spot beside him in the bed seemed an impossible option, with your hamster-sized body and delicate nature.
"Bloody hell..." he muttered, his gaze locked on you. "Where to put wee you now..."
---
He glanced around the bedroom, contemplating a solution. The bedside table seemed too exposed, the counter too cold, the couch too far away from his side. A thought occurred to him then---the dresser drawer.
He padded over to the dresser, opened a drawer on the bottom, and inspected its interior.
"Aye, this should work," he murmured, a spark of affection and protection shining in his eyes as he set you down in the drawer, padded with a few folded socks for cushioning.
"Now, let's see..."
You woke up when he laid you down gently on socks. You stared at him and made some unhappy protesting noises as if saying, 'Seriously? You are putting your wife with socks?'
---
"Och, dinnae give me that look," Soap said with a soft chuckle, poking one finger gently beside you.
"Socks? Aye. But they're yer socks---the ones ye wore last week. Still smell like cherries an' stubbornness."
He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Cozy, warm, and right beside the bed. Can pop ye up top whenever I feel like stealin' kisses---or fend off any rogue spiders tryin' tae evict my wee queen."
A slow grin spread across his face. "An' if it makes ye feel better... I'll leave the drawer open so ye can see me. Deal?"
You were still not very happy. You wanted to sleep in his arms. But that just wasn't possible at this moment. So you relented and started to find yourself a comfortable spot against the socks.
---
Soap watched with a mix of affection and resignation as you settled into the drawer. Your pouty expression was too cute to resist, but he also knew the limitations of your hamster form.
"Aye, I get it, lass. Ain't exactly the same as havin' ye in my arms, but it's the best we can do for now."
He propped up the drawer with a pile of clothes, so it'd stay open, and gently tucked a sock corner over you like a tiny blanket.
It had been a long day for tiny hamster you. And you were glad he still kind of tucked you in. So you fell asleep quickly.
---
Soap carefully adjusted the sock-blanket one last time, his calloused fingers impossibly gentle against your tiny form. The moonlight spilled over the dresser, painting silver streaks across his knuckles and the edge of the drawer.
"G'night, wee bairn," he murmured, voice thick with something warm and unspoken. "Dream o' growin' back quick... so I can stop missin' how ye fit right here."
He didn't move for a long moment---just crouched beside the drawer, watching your tiny chest rise and fall. Then, with a soft huff of laughter at himself, he leaned back on his heels.
"Next time," he whispered to no one in particular, "I'm makin' Ghost wear that bloody lab coat instead."
But there was no real anger in it---only fierce fondness as he flicked off the light and settled into bed nearby. One hand hung off the edge... close enough to feel you if you stirred.
---
The next morning you woke up and climbed out of the drawer only to see so many different things. You saw a whole set of hamster-sized furniture. Little bed, little chair, and even tiny mini dresses. You walked around on the bed and found him sitting there, staring at you.
---
Soap sat cross-legged on the bed, freshly showered with his damp Mohawk flopping sideways. He'd clearly been up for a while---eyes glued to you the second you climbed out of the drawer.
"Well, good mornin', Princess Fluffbutt," he said, voice warm and teasing. "Sleep well in yer royal sock palace?"
He gestured proudly to the little setup---a tiny wooden bed, a thimble-sized chair, even a miniature clothes rail with three absurdly small dresses strung up on pins.
"Found a wee hobby shop online last night. Got ye sorted proper---no more sleepin' in laundry rebellion."
He leaned closer, eyes softening as he watched you explore. "And if ye behave... there's a wheel comin'. Once I figure out how tae stop it from wakin' Ghost next door."
A slow smirk played on his lips. "But dinnae get too excited---I'm still not puttin' ye in me pocket. Last thing I need is ye chewin' through me phone... or my heart."
You tilted your furry head in confusion. Since when do hamsters wear dresses and where the hell did he find them? But you couldn't resist that bed, so you climbed on it. Perfect size for you!
---
Soap chuckled at your adorable head tilt, then watched with a fond smile as you scurried over to the tiny bed, clambering onto it. The sight warmed his gruff heart---you in that wee bed, fluffy and confused, looking up at him with those big, curious eyes.
"Aye, ye like it, don't ye?" he murmured, stroking your fuzzy head. "Was a hell of a time findin' that online, especially at wee hours."
He picked up one of the tiny dresses. "Even got ye this."
You squirmed against his fingertips as he tried to put that on you. You even nibbled on his finger just to protest that he had terrible taste in dresses and you were not wearing that! Not even if you were a hamster.
---
Soap laughed as you squirmed and bit his finger, protesting against the dress with all the ferocity your fluffy little hamster body could muster.
"Och, there goes that stubborn spirit I know so well," he teased, gently tickling your belly with his free hand. "All this fuss over a piece of fabric. And for the record, I have great taste---ye just refuse to see it."
He held up the dress again, trying to reason with you.
"C'mon, lass. Just try it on?"
You turned your fuzzy butt at him, not even wanting to look at it.
---
Soap couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh at the sight of your turned furry backside, refusing to acknowledge the wee dress in his hands. The stubborn, defiant, and adorable nature that was purely you shone through in that moment.
"Bloody hell, ye are somethin' else," he exclaimed, shaking his head in a mix of amusement and fondness. "Stubborn as a bloody mule when ye want to be."
He leaned closer, a determined gleam in his eyes. "I'm not above bribery, wee one."
And just like that, he got you into trying it with---one french fry, which looked so big against you as you nibbled on it happily. What could you say? You always had a weak spot for that.
---
A smirk tugged at Soap's lips as he watched you nibble on the fry, your tiny form dwarfed by the enormous piece of food. He chuckled, amused by your clear weakness for those tasty morsels.
"Aye, there it is. Bribery works every time, eh?"
He leaned in closer, carefully draping the dress over your furry back. It was comically oversized, hanging about you like a miniature tent as he tried to adjust the fabric so it didn't get in your way.
"Now... let's see what the wee hamster queen looks like."
You wrinkled your tiny nose at the look of that on you. But you decided to entertain him and circled around on his palm as if you were doing a hamster fashion show.
---
Soap's face lit up with delight as you waddled around on his palm in that ridiculous tiny dress, doing your best---or worst---hamster fashion show. Your nose wrinkled with every step, like even you couldn't believe what you were doing, but there was a glint of playful pride in your eyes.
"Och, look at ye!" he laughed, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face. "Victoria's Secret's got nothin' on this runway."
He cleared his throat dramatically and held up an imaginary microphone.
"'And here we have the one... the only... Lady Fluffington of Clan McSnuggleface---wearin' her signature battle gown forged from threadbare lace and sheer stubbornness!'"
He poked your belly gently between poses. "Bloody brilliant. A+ for flair. Minus ten points for model attitude---but I suppose I can't blame ye, considerin' who picked out the wardrobe."
Then softly, warm and proud: "...Still beautiful though---even if ye do hate it."
You whimpered softly in your tiny voice. He just always knew how to melt you. It was moments like this that always reminded you how lucky you were to have him as your husband. Your tiny eyes now filled with shiny tears.
---
Soap's teasing smile softened the second he saw those tiny, glistening tears in your hamster eyes. The moment hit him deep---this absurdly small, fiercely proud creature, still somehow managing to melt his heart like always.
"Ah, lass..." He cupped you gently in both hands now, bringing you close to his face. His voice dropped---low, tender.
"None o' that now. No cryin', not even wee hamster tears."
His thumb brushed ever so lightly over your head---a silent promise. "Ye think I'd dress ye up like some mad fashion rodent if I didna love every single stubborn bite an' cherry-scented snore?"
A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Yer my wife---in fur or flesh. And if that means walkin' around with a dramatic wee dress and a grudge against my taste? Then so be it."
He kissed the top of your head---soft as breath.
"Just dinnae go changin'. Even when ye're smaller than a croissant."
---
And he took you to the kitchen to prepare you both breakfast.
Soap carefully scooped you into the palm of his hand, cradling you like something infinitely precious as he padded barefoot to the kitchen. Morning sunlight spilled across the floor, painting stripes on the tiles.
"Right then, wee queen," he murmured, "time for breakfast. But no promises I won't drop a sausage roll just to see ye scramble after it."
He set you gently on the counter beside a thimble-sized plate---yes, an actual thimble---where a tiny piece of scrambled egg and a minuscule sliver of toast awaited.
Meanwhile, he cracked eggs into his own pan with dramatic flair.
"See that?" He pointed at one egg yolk glistening in the pan. "Could've been your bed if I'd left it longer."
You squeaked in protest.
"Oh! Forgive me!" He feigned offence. "I was only joking! Ye'd be far too grumpy sleepin' in raw egg..."
As bacon sizzled and toast popped up golden brown, he leaned down close again.
"Now eat up---then maybe we'll work on gettin' Ghost tae wear one o' yer tiny dresses."
A wicked glint flashed in his eye. "Just sayin' it fer revenge."
You sniffed around his coffee and turned away with a wrinkled nose. Then you glanced at that glass of milk. One minute he was just biting into his food. Next thing you knew, you were swimming in the milk.
---
Soap paused mid-bite, watching in surprise as you dove head first into that glass of milk. He coughed, trying desperately to stifle a laugh. The sight was too ridiculous---a miniature version of the woman he loved, paddling around his breakfast glass like a furry little duck.
"Well... that's one way to enjoy breakfast."
He couldn't resist reaching for a spoon. With one finger, he scooped your miniature hamster form out of the milk, setting you gently onto his plate. The glassy white droplets clung to your fur.
"Ye look good in dairy."
You tried to shake the milk off your fur. But it didn't work. You hadn't mastered that skill yet, you guessed.
---
Soap watched, torn between laughing and swooping in to help as you wiggled and shivered---like a tiny, soaked fluffball trying (and failing) to master the sacred art of the post-dip shake.
"Och, no," he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "Not yet trained in the ancient hamster ways? Disgraceful."
He grabbed a napkin---softest cotton---and gently blotted at your fur like he was dabbing paint off a priceless masterpiece.
"Calm down, lass. Ye're gonna spin yerself right inta next week."
He wrapped you loosely in the cloth and held you close against his chest. "Warmth's better than fancy shakes anyway... unless ye plan tae join yer friends at Hamster Olympics? Then by all means---start trainin'."
Under his breath: "...Still cuter than any medal."
---
After breakfast, you insisted on staying in his chest pocket as he took you both out for a walk. You popped your fuzzy head out, looking around curiously. Everything seemed so big and different now.
Soap adjusted the fabric of his jacket just right---loose enough for air, snug enough to keep you safe---as you nestled into the chest pocket like a tiny stowaway on a grand adventure. A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest when he felt you wriggle up, your fuzzy little head popping out like a curious periscope.
"See anything interesting up there, Captain Fluff?" he murmured.
The world stretched vast and strange before your hamster eyes---the sidewalk like cracked plains, blades of grass towering like trees, pigeons looming dangerously close to dragon status.
Soap kept his steps slow and steady.
"Aye," he said softly, "everything looks bigger from down here... but don't worry."
He tapped one finger gently beside your ear. "I've got ye. Not lettin' go---not now that I've finally got my wife where I can actually hear her heartbeat."
A breeze rustled through the trees. "...And if any bug tries tae abduct ye? They'll answer tae my boot."
And then? You saw a cat! So you immediately hid back into his pocket.
---
Soap chuckled as your tiny head vanished back into his jacket pocket. The moment you spotted that cat---its slinking figure, its twitching black tail---you went into full-on defensive mode. From his pocket, he heard you squeak in protest, sounding almost like an angry teakettle.
He kept walking. Calm, steady. Just a guy out for a lazy walk, completely unaware of the high-stakes game going on in his chest.
"Relax, lass," he murmured, "Ye're safe. The only one gettin' scratched today is me."
---
You spent a lazy morning doing nothing under the warm sun. He even managed to feed you some snacks at the park.
The sun hung low and golden in the sky as Soap sprawled out on a park bench, one arm draped over the back like he owned the whole world. You stayed tucked in his open jacket pocket, occasionally poking your head out like a meerkat on high alert---especially every time a squirrel so much as twitched nearby.
"Still paranoid?" he teased. "That cat's long gone. Ye're safe enough tae enjoy yer fancy hamster picnic."
He pulled out a crumb of banana bread from his pocket---saved specially---and dangled it just above you. The second you reached up with both paws, he let it go right into your tiny grasp.
"You eat like ye're bein' filmed," he mused, "all dramatic nibbles an' serious focus."
A breeze rolled through the trees. "But y'know... not bad company for a wee fluff monster."
Soap leaned back, letting the warmth soak into his skin. His fingers rested near the edge of his jacket---a soft anchor for you to hold onto.
"Could do worse than this," he said quietly, eyes half-lidded in contentment. "No war, no Ghost shoutin', no mad science experiments gone wrong... Just sun... snacks..." He smirked down at you. "An' my wife chewin' crumbs like she's got something to prove."
And there they stayed---a giant man and his tiny queen---in perfect stillness under an ordinary sky made extraordinary by simply being together.
---
He took you both home for a nap. Ain't no better thing than drifting off in your home under the sunlight while loved ones pressed against you. Well... in this case, you were laying on his chest as he settled on the couch.
The sunlight danced lazily across Soap's face as it streamed through the window, spreading golden warmth across the room. Your tiny form nestled into his chest, and he could feel the steady rise and fall of your little body---a comforting rhythm against his heartbeat. He closed his eyes with a contented sigh, wrapping one arm around you, feeling the warmth of your tiny fur against his skin. The world outside seemed to melt away, replaced by the softness of a quiet afternoon...
Just him and you, a furry queen, in the midst of a cozy nap...
---
And that's what you saw when you came back home. Your husband napping with a hamster on his chest. Yeah... there was no such thing as a human turning into a hamster. Just a joke his friend made on him. So you woke him up.
"Johnny? What's with that little rat on your chest?"
---
Soap jolted awake, blinking groggily as your voice---your very real, very human voice---cut through his nap like a gunshot. His eyes darted down to the tiny creature still curled up on his chest, then back to you standing there, arms crossed.
Silence.
Then---
"Oh, fuck ."
He bolted upright, the hamster tumbling into his lap with a startled squeak.
"Christ, lass---ye're back! And---and this---" He gestured wildly at the hamster, "Ghost's idea o' a joke! Said it'd teach me patience!"
His face twisted in betrayal. " Patience , my arse! I've been talkin' tae a rodent like it was my wife fer half a day---feedin' it cake, buildin' it furniture--- cryin' ---"
He scooped up the hamster and thrust it toward you like damning evidence. "Ye see this? This is warfare. Psychological terrorism ."
Then, voice cracking with relief and indignation: "...Welcome home, hen. Missed ye like bloody hell."
---
You giggled softly. "Let me get this straight. So they actually convinced you that this little rat here---is me?"
---
Soap grumbled under his breath, his cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and lingering annoyance---not so much that he was tricked, but that he actually fell for it so thoroughly. His fingers gently ran down the hamster's back, feeling the softness of its fur under his rough touch.
"Aye. Bastards convinced me this wee rodent was ye incarnate."
He sighed, exasperated but also charmed by the absurdity. "Even called it Princess Fluffbutt."
---
"Really? Should I feel jealous? Since you have been treating this little ball of fur like your wife for two days~"
---
A sharp laugh burst out of Soap, a blend of guilt and amusement at being called out. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to maintain some scrap of dignity left.
"Aye, I suppose ye could call it that."
He glanced down at the hamster, its tiny eyes peering up at him from his palm like a furry judgment.
"But in my defence, hen, this here princess had all the right attributes---tiny, sassy, always demandin' more cake and attention."
---
"So you are calling it princess now? Wow. Did you kiss it too? Hmm?"
---
Soap's cheeks flamed crimson---a mix of guilt and genuine embarrassment. He tried to laugh it off, feigning nonchalance as he avoided your gaze.
"Kissed it? I wouldn't go that far. It's a hamster."
But the way his fingers gently traced along the hamster's fur told a different story. There was a tenderness there, a care that spoke louder than words.
"...It was only a peck---just to see if it tasted like ye."
---
"You kissed a hamster!!! And thought it was your wife!"
You pinched his cheek. "You really should take some anti-scam lessons. You know?"
---
Soap recoiled slightly at your pinch, rubbing his cheek defensively. How he had fallen for such a ridiculous joke was beyond his comprehension.
"Och, I dinnae need no scam classes," he muttered. "It was a one-time slip-up."
His eyes found yours again, a mix of chagrin and amusement in his expression.
"But in my defence, that hamster had some convincing moves. Made me believe I had a fluffy wee wife sleepin' in my pocket."
---
"Yeah. That's what you always wished for, huh? Carrying me around in your pocket?"
You rolled your eyes slightly. "And by the way, we are not keeping it."
---
Soap scoffed gently, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips. He had to admit, the idea of carrying his wife around in a pocket, tucked safely close, did have a certain appeal...
"Aye, the thought never escaped me."
He shrugged nonchalantly at your mention of keeping the hamster. But when his eyes flicked back down at the creature, a hint of reluctance flickered in his gaze.
"And why not, lass? It's harmless. And it's grown on me a bit."
---
"Seriously?"
You gave him a look and added, "Oh. And for your information, it's a he."
You tried not to grin too wide.
---
Soap froze, staring down at the hamster in his palm with newfound horror.
"...A he ?"
His entire body recoiled---like the realization had just slapped him across the face.
"I--- christ ---I called him princess . I fed him. I cried ---"
He shoved the hamster toward you in sheer betrayal.
"Take him. I dinnae want him. Ghost wins. The bastard wins ."
Then, voice dropping into muttered despair: "...Still a good lad, though."