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Soap didn’t get drunk like this often. Being in the SAS tended to mean that he was “always on”; even between missions, he felt like he had to remain sober just in case something went sideways. Tonight, however, Price had assured the entire team that they wouldn’t be needed for at least a week, so they were strongly encouraged to let loose a bit.
So here he was, several pints deep, splayed across the common room couch trying desperately to stay awake. Gaz had been there at some point, at least Soap thought he had been. Everything seemed so far away now like he was trying to remember someone else’s life. The world was blurry and spinning, the overhead lights had funny tails attached to them every time Soap moved his head, but the couch was more comfortable than he ever remembered it being. It had to be 20 years old at least, and dustier than Price’s fucking hat, but right now it was better than a feather mattress.
The sound of the common room door opening barely registered in Soap’s intoxicated mind. Lifting his head was a herculean task, but his well-trained peripheral vision caught sight of a large dark mountain moving toward his place on the couch.
“Ssssimon!” The words were slurred, almost garbled beyond recognition.
“Jesus, Johnny, how much have you had?”
The large, warm void reached out and hauled Soap up to a sitting position, stealing the beer from his lax grip. Whatever scrap of fight the sergeant put up was quickly subdued, Ghost quickly putting the bottle on the table in front of them. Soap leaned forward to grab his drink back, instantly putting himself off balance and tipping forward, heading straight for the corner of the coffee table. Strong arms caught him with no issue, bringing the inebriated Scot back to a sitting position.
“Ghost, ya bloody bampot, lemme get ma’ drink!”
Soap was not a lightweight by any means, and he usually would never drink himself into such a state. In fact, he only ever drank for the enjoyable taste of his favorites, or for the simple camaraderie of the ritual of going out with his buddies and having a grand old time. It was rarely ever with an intention to knock himself out cold that he reached for a bottle; even if he actually ended up in this state, it was never really on purpose. However that night, he did do so with a clear goal in his mind.
Sue him for being a lovesick idiot going bonkers.
These past few missions really had felt like literal hell on earth, and not because they were difficult or particularly dangerous. He just had to go through them working with Ghost, who suddenly acted like Soap’s flirty words weren’t reaching his ears at all.
It was as if someone had flipped some switch and replaced the Ghost that Soap had grown to know with someone who only responded with monosyllables. The man he had hopelessly fallen for only barked out orders and directions as if they were strictly two soldiers in the field, and not the friends Soap had thought them to be. Friends with a sprinkle of hope for something more, perhaps.
That was before Ghost did a complete one-eighty on him and decided they would no longer interact in the same way, instead building this strange wall of cold awkwardness that Soap couldn’t seem to breach. It was frustrating. It was maddening. It was making him so goddamn sad he actually wanted to drink himself into a stupor to forget about the ugly feelings in his gut, the heartbreaking sense of loss that he couldn’t prevent.
Looking up into Ghost’s face, his beautiful brown eyes so worried and finally focused on him for longer than a split second, Soap felt all those emotions raise uncontrollably inside his chest. Ghost’s palms still resting on his arms, his physical closeness, and the alcohol in his system were definitely not helping to keep it all down as everything he had been bottling up inside threatened to spill out of him.
“Ghooost…” he whined, trying to escape his grip to reach for the bottle, hoping that keeping himself focused on some specific goal, in this case, getting one more drink, would help him suppress the words that were at the tip of his tongue.
“No, not until you tell me what’s up with you getting so drunk. What’s wrong, Johnny? I’ve never seen you like this before.” He sounded soft, so unbelievably soft like he used to back when there had still been hope in Johnny’s heart. This really was such an unfair tactic that melted all of his defenses so easily.
Soap winced at the question, the answer at the forefront of his mind too painful to truly think about. He wanted to tell Ghost everything, that was the problem. More than anything, he wanted to scream to the bloody fool in front of him that the sudden coldness coming from him stung worse than any bullet he’d ever taken. The fact that there wasn’t a steady stream of dumb jokes and teasing comments in his ears on every mission was almost distracting– Soap almost didn’t know how to function on the field without them. Fuck, he had to bite his tongue so hard it hurt to stave off the constant repetition in his mind of IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.
“I love you, you dummy,” he blurted, the words leaping out before Soap had a chance to stop them. Part of his drunken mind chastised him for his sudden honesty, the other part congratulated him for finally opening up.
Before his brain could punish him for revealing the secret he’d been holding back for months, his stomach protested the amount of liquor he’d consumed without any real food. Ghost released one of his arms from around Soap’s waist to grab the nearby garbage can, holding it in front of his sergeant’s face as the man got sick. Soap groaned as he leaned back up, slumping into the taller man’s hold. His eyes grew heavy, the ethanol taking its toll on his system. Even thinking through the confession he’d made not two minutes ago was too difficult; Soap just wanted to rest. He’d figure things out tomorrow.
__________
Ghost sighed as Soap passed out against his chest, mouth slightly open and body completely boneless. He meant what he’d said– he’d never seen Johnny like this, and it pained him a bit, to be honest. The ache in his chest from watching Soap drink himself into a stupor was currently being outweighed, however, by the words hurled at him so unexpectedly.
I love you, you dummy.
He couldn’t have meant that. Why would Johnny, pride and joy of the 141, a literal ray of sunshine, love him? Him? Even if his sergeant actually had meant it and it wasn’t just the beer talking, he shouldn’t. Loving Simon Riley was a death sentence.
With a deep sigh, Ghost tucked his other arm under Soap’s knees and lifted. The man was made of muscle, but so was he. Hauling him up into a bridal hold wasn’t difficult for him, even in the other man’s incoherent state. Soap might be dead weight right now, but Ghost would never drop him, never let him fall. The lieutenant held him gently as he made his way through the halls from the common room to the barracks, turning them sideways to fit through narrow doorways. The last thing he wanted to do was let Soap wake up with a concussion because he slammed his face on a door jam.
It didn’t take long to reach Soap’s room, the key in its ever-present place in the sergeant’s pocket. Digging through his joggers was a bit awkward for Ghost, especially considering the last words Soap had given him before he passed out, but this wasn’t about him. He had to get Johnny safe in bed.
It was with utmost gentleness that he lowered the man onto his sheets, making sure not to disturb him into waking as he adjusted his limbs and slowly took off his shoes. He thought of wrestling him out of at least some layers of his clothes, but even if it would make the Scot more comfortable, it felt a notch too intrusive, somehow even more so after Soap’s unexpected confession.
Soap groaned a little and turned onto his side when Ghost stepped back, and his face scrunched in a grimace of pain as his hand reached blindly in front of him. Something about the pained expression made Ghost freeze and remain staring instead of making an immediate escape as he had originally planned. He was getting hit now with the full realization of what had transpired and he really, really needed a longer moment to process it before he freaked the fuck out.
However, he couldn’t just walk away from Soap when he seemed so distressed. Not just because it was simple human decency telling him to take care of a friend, but because it was Soap whose hearty laughter and flirty jokes had gradually defrosted Ghost’s cold heart to the point that it started to flutter with an emotion he had thought long-forgotten.
The moment he realized what was happening to him, it was already far too late. The ever-unapproachable Simon Riley had fallen for a bright-eyed sergeant and it terrified him to the core.
To be completely honest, he was not exactly afraid to experience feelings per se, it was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. What was uninvited, however, was the ever-present hope that Soap could actually mean all the flirty comments, when Ghost had a strong suspicion this was just Soap’s personality and how he would interact with any other close teammate.
He didn’t want to allow himself to think he could actually have their working relationship turn into something else, not because of it being inappropriate by army standards, but rather because he wouldn’t want to inflict himself on Soap– so full of life, energy, joy, happiness. The man had infinite potential, and Ghost would never forgive himself for clipping his wings that way. He would never dare to ask for Soap’s love when the man deserved to channel all of it into someone who wasn’t just a broken husk of a man. Johnny simply deserved better.
All these thoughts ran through Ghost’s head as he stood over Soap’s bed, watching him stir until his bleary eyes snapped back open.
“Siiiimon…” he moaned weakly, his hand grabbing for Ghost’s sleeve as he reached out so far he was in danger of actually falling off the edge of the mattress face-first onto the floor.
It was simply reflex at this point to grab him and keep him safe.
Ghost crouched by the bed, holding Soap’s arm again, feeling his muscles flex underneath his fingers while their gazes met, the sergeant’s eyes a little hazy.
“I know I’m a little disgusting right now…” Soap slurred, though his voice held a hint of clarity that it lacked before. “Maybe you don’t like me, and that’s okay, but don’t leave me tonight, please. Don’t go away. Just… Hold me this once, Simon.”
Any scrap of mental fortitude slipped away with the begging tone coming from his sergeant. Soap never begged, not even on the rare occasion when they got captured and someone was heaping pain on them both. No matter what, John MacTavish didn’t beg. Not for his life, not for anything, and yet, he was pleading for Ghost to stay. Simon couldn’t not give in. What kind of man would he be if he couldn’t help his sergeant just this once?
“Yeah, Johnny. I- yeah, I’ll stay.” He couldn’t say more than that, didn’t know how to say more than that, but staying with Soap was a given. His sergeant needed him right now, so Ghost would do whatever he could.
The answer seemed to satisfy Soap as he dropped his arm from Ghost’s, his hand hanging limp over the side as he watched his lieutenant with glazed-over eyes. The taller man took his hoodie off, tossing it on the desk along with his gloves. His shoes and socks came off next, leaving Ghost clad only in his thin undershirt and joggers. He tentatively climbed in the bed after Johnny, adjusting himself near the wall so Soap had plenty of room.
Ghost wasn’t a tactile person, especially since Roba. There were many things he hadn’t been since that period of his life that Johnny was bringing back, things he wasn’t quite sure how to handle. When Soap haphazardly rolled over and flopped his head onto Ghost’s chest, the taller man froze. Usually, he would push away from the contact, maintain a firm barrier of personal space. Somehow, he couldn’t do that with Johnny. The weight pressing down on his ribs was comforting, rather than stifling. The breath whispering against his neck was soothing, instead of fear-inducing.
Everything about Soap was the perfect storm.
He was bringing Ghost’s defenses down once again, and there was nothing left to protect him from fully letting the feelings sink in. Ghost held the other man so close to himself, Soap’s complete relaxation a testament to the trust he had in him, the way he felt safe in his presence.
It was a shock to Ghost’s system that he couldn’t quite handle.
Soap was breathing deeply, steadily, and nuzzling into Ghost like it was the most natural thing. All at once, everything that Ghost had been holding back since he realized how much he cared about Soap was making him want to burst out of his skin. He was actually grateful for Soap’s drunken state; he had a perfect excuse to admit to the feelings that were so hard to rein in and silence. He wanted to tell Soap all of it, and it was so tempting given that he seemed asleep. He likely wouldn't even remember Ghost’s words in the morning when sobriety found him taking back his inebriated confession.
“Johnny-” he began quietly, his hand rubbing an absentminded circle into Soap’s back. “I don’t know how you could mean what you have said. I don’t see anything lovable in myself. I don’t like anything about me.”
“It’s okay,” Soap mumbled into Ghost’s chest, not even bothering to open his eyes, “I’ll love you hard enough for the both of us.”
All words that Ghost had intended to say evaporated out of his mind. He froze, completely still as his heart seemed to stop too, skipping not one beat but two from this highly unlikely event of Soap somehow managing to say something even more earth-shattering than his earlier confession.
It took him a moment to realize he was crying.
Simon hadn’t cried in years; he had already forgotten how it felt to shed tears and let them fall, to experience the stinging of his eyes and hold back sobs that were making his chest spasm a little as he fought to remain still. The battle to stifle his sounds and let Johnny actually sleep was a difficult one as the emotions from the two confessions rolled through him.
His balaclava was soaking through, but it didn’t look like the tears would stop anytime soon. He squeezed Soap tighter and rested his cheek on top of his head, breathing in the scent of his aftershave and fruity shampoo for a moment before his nose got stuffed and he struggled a little to catch enough oxygen. Despite the difficulty breathing, Ghost stubbornly rejected the thought of moving to get a tissue.
He wasn’t going to just let Soap out of his arms that easy. He wanted to cherish every second of it selfishly, fully expecting him to backtrack in the morning but too far gone now to stop, his heart openly bleeding the raw love he felt for the precious man he could finally hold close. Simon didn’t have the courage to mutter the words going through his mind in case Johnny was actually still listening, but he let this embrace speak for him as their heartbeats synchronized in the non-existent space between them.
The tears stopped after a while, as the notion of Soap actually loving him began to finally sink in. Simon didn’t think the novelty would ever wear off, but he had processed just enough that the exhaustion from a tsunami of emotions washed over him. Although it felt like his limbs were suddenly made of lead, Ghost could only focus on the cold dampness of his balaclava. Sure, he could sleep with it wet; he’d done it before. However, he would much prefer to sleep with a dry face and not waterboard himself all night.
In a split-second decision, Ghost reached the arm that had been wrapped around Johnny’s waist up and pulled the mask off from the bottom. It felt strange to have his face exposed again, even if Soap couldn’t actually see him. Tossing the balaclava over to the dresser felt too vulnerable, at least for now, so Ghost opted to simply lay it behind his head. He didn’t think he’d be rolling over to that side anyway, not while he had something to keep him still.
Johnny mumbled slightly in his sleep as Simon closed his eyes, the feeling of his soft snores vibrating against his chest more soothing than a lullaby. With a soft sigh against sweet-smelling hair, Ghost let his chin cradle the top of Soap’s head as he drifted off, relishing the warmth and comfort the other man gave off.
__________
Soap woke up with a groan, his head twisted uncomfortably as he came around. It took him a moment to realize he was being held, and very tightly at that. He shifted a little and looked up straight at Ghost, who blinked at him with sleepy confusion, his unmasked face oddly soft and vulnerable.
For a minute he just gaped openly, his mind blank as the first sting of an oncoming headache made him grimace. Then it all started coming back, minute by minute, the events unfolding in his memory as the horror slowly sunk in.
Yeah, he professed his love for Ghost, and not just once. Couldn’t play it off as a drunken slip-up now, could he?
“Ghost, Simon—” he croaked out, his throat extremely dry.
“Shhh.” Ghost’s eyes were big as he met Soap’s gaze, some unreadable emotion in them as his sleepiness faded.
“Let me just-” Soap began again but froze in shock as Ghost’s finger came to his lips to quiet him down.
“Shush, Johnny, don’t talk, I know what you want to say,” Ghost uttered quietly, their faces very close in the warm space as they still lay cuddled up. “Don’t try to take it back, please. Because I know and… me too.”
Soap was speechless. He blinked owlishly as Ghost slowly removed his finger, watched a blush creep onto his cheeks, taking in the beauty of his bashful face, so open and fragile in that new vulnerability. His other arm was still holding Soap close, warm around his body; Soap’s head spun a little with the improbability of it all. Could it really be true?
The hesitance and doubt flew from Johnny’s mind as Ghost leaned forward once again, his deceptively soft lips pressing against his forehead. The kiss was nothing but gentle, a barely-there press against his skin before Simon was pulling back and looking deep into his eyes once more.
Now that the door had been open, Soap surged forward to steal Ghost’s mouth in a proper kiss, only to be stopped by a large hand and a quiet chuckle.
“Not on your life. You threw up in the common room and I couldn’t get you to brush your teeth before you passed out.” The pout Soap felt crossing his face was soon washed away as Simon covered the rest of his face in quick pecks, stopping at each scar and freckle marring his skin.
“I might hold you to it, Johnny,” Ghost spoke softly, his lips nestled against Soap’s temple.
“Hold me to what?”
“Loving me for the both of us. I’ll- I’ll try, but I’m not sure how. I just know I love you. That’s all that matters.”
The quiet statement had Soap moving forward to steal a proper kiss again, only to be stopped for a second time. He huffed with slight annoyance, but it dissipated at the sight of a playful spark in Ghost's eyes, and the flush to his cheeks. After all, if what Simon said was true, he’d have forever to kiss him. He could be patient just this once.