Chapter Text
Ghost had never known Soap to go down easily, which meant it had to be something mean that was keeping him holed up in his room that morning. Ghost had looked for him, just in passing at first, then more earnestly when he realized Soap wasn’t in the mess for breakfast.
Price had given him the news, had sent him to the medic to grab a couple of things to bring Soap. Now Ghost walked the familiar route to the barracks, down a hallway just like his own, to where he had been told he could find the man.
When he knocked at the door, he was met with only silence. Knocked once more, just for good measure.
Nothing, not a single sound from within.
Tentatively Ghost reached for the handle, found it opened easily enough.
He knew it was bad when he took in Soap’s room, knew Soap was meticulous when it came to keeping his things in order. Today, clothing littered the floor, along with some equipment and other personal effects. On the bed he found Soap, blankets tangled up around his torso. He was shivering, shirt not far where he lay, as if he had ripped it off in a fit but was now dealing with the consequences of that choice.
Sighing, Ghost placed the pills and water on the bedside table and set himself to work.
It didn’t take long to have Soap’s room back in order. The hardest part had been rearranging Soap’s personal effects, not sure how he liked to keep them. He paused as he picked up a heap of crumpled paper from beside Soap’s bed, a pencil not far. Frowning, he smoothed out the pages, flipping it over.
It was a sketchbook.
Ghost knew Soap drew, had never stopped to think about the ‘what’ of it though.
He had almost tamed his curiosity when a familiar shape caught his eye. He paused, cocking his head some.
The drawing was of him.
Ghost ran a finger over it, startling when the graphite smudged under his touch. He held the book more carefully now, flipping through it gently.
There wasn’t just one, but several. Intermixed with landscapes and quick sketches of buildings, of still life and architecture, were graphite portraits of Ghost.
Sure there were other people included here as well, but no one showed up quite as much as Ghost did. Not his real face of course, but that didn’t seem to matter.
Snapshots of Ghost’s hands, of his neck and shoulders appeared over and over again. Of his chest and most of all, of his eyes. Ghost liked those the most. Showed him in an almost idealized light that he had never seen before.
Soap drew kindness into his eyes, drew in something other than the coldness he felt on almost a daily basis, except for maybe when he was with…
Ghost pushed the thought down, forced himself to close the book. His fingers itched to rip out just one of those pages, to have some of this for himself. Forced himself not to.
Reaching down, he drew the blankets up properly around Soap. Ignored the heat of Soap’s body against his knuckles as he dragged the fabric up his back, ignored the tiny, satisfied noise Soap made as he did.
When the door clicked shut behind him, Ghost gave himself a minute. He sucked in a deep breath, working to get himself under control some. That had been an intrusion of Soap’s privacy, he told himself. As well meaning as it was, he couldn’t do it again, wouldn’t be able to ever tell Soap about what he had seen today.
But the next time he saw Soap drawing, maybe Ghost wouldn’t be such an ass about it.