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A life of simplicity was something Simon never, truly, saw himself having. Even back when he was a butcher, he never expected it to last. Something in the back of his mind insisted that he keep on guard – and, well, look where it got him. He could barely look himself in the mirror, these days.
So, it was forgivable that, now he’d been discharged from the military, and was living a supposedly normal life, he just felt... ill at ease.
He had a house, now. A big, empty house, all for himself. He had a garden, he had house plants, he had his own little conservatory. And it was weird.
For the first month, he didn’t even sleep on his bed. He slept on the floor. It made more sense, to him – it felt more comfortable. If something were to come, in the middle of the night, it wouldn’t be as difficult to wake up.
That and the bed was too fucking soft. Christ, that mattress felt like sinking into a marshmallow – how the hell do people sleep like that?
Still, months passed, and he only felt somewhat like he was losing in mind. In Ghost’s head, that was progress.
Eventually, Price seemed to tire of Ghost’s constant irritation. Supposedly, his former Commander wanted peace and quiet, and not Ghost always calling him to gripe about how soft his mattress was, or how quiet his neighbourhood was, or--
You get the gist.
So, here he was. Two months later, after Price’s suggestion. He was sat upon his sofa, looking down at the small creature sat on his lap, staring up at him. Fearless little bugger, the dog was so small that he was sure some of his boots towered over it, yet he didn’t seem fussed. Grey fur, messy and tousled, and piercing blue eyes that seem fixed on him.
An emotional support animal.
On the way to his shelter, he thought about getting a stereotypical one. The sort that could defend him at home – a German Shepard, or an Alsatian, or a Doberman. And don’t get him wrong, there were plenty there. In fact, the person showing him around the adoption centre seemed to be encouraging him towards one of those.
But then he saw Frank.
Frank was a mutt. A chihuahua, probably, mixed with something else. He had wiry fur, and despite his small stature, he barked like hell when Simon approached the cage.
“This is Frank,” the worker said, a sheepish look in their eyes, “He’s... a handful. His last owner was not... the greatest. He’s been neglected, abused. He’s not good with children, or... a lot of other things. He barks a lot.”
Well, Simon had been sold.
Fuck, Price was going to laugh like hell when told about the dog he’d adopted.
So he looked down at Frank, watching the dog appraise him.
“You want to go on a walk?”
A bark was his only response. Perfect.
Gently nudging the dog out of his lap, he grabbed the lead he’d bought, alongside the harness. Frank grumped and growled about the whole situation, but, for some reason, decided Simon was trustworthy enough for now, and allowed it to happen.
Within the next ten minutes, they headed outside. In hindsight, it must look pretty strange. Ghost, being a tall man, muscled, scarred, lower half of his face covered up with a facemask (part of him still missed the full balaclava, but he recognized he couldn’t wear that around a neighbourhood without looking like a burglar), and here he was with his dog, a pipsqueak who was eyeing everything angrily.
It was an arduous walk, for the most part. The list of things Frank didn’t like was increasing by the minute: big dogs, little dogs, men who walk too fast, bikes, kites, frisbees... Ghost could continue, but he won’t. Part of him could relate, though. All those mundane things just felt threatening, now. Painful. So, he understood Frank, greatly.
Eventually, the duo made it just outside Simon’s house. Frank, despite having not spent much time there, seemed to realize that this was home, and relaxed a lot more. Perhaps he’d take him to a more secluded place, next time – the park wasn’t ideal for either of them.
It was only as they were just moving onto Simon’s driveway that something ruined the calm that had settled over Frank – a loud, purring engine could be heard, and he recognized it as a motorbike. Frank seemed to tense, and a growl escaped him, all his fur seeming to go on one end. Poor guy. Loud noise like that must be overwhelming, with little ears. He tried to do what felt right – in one fell swoop, he crouched down, and lifted Frank into his arms. The little dog fit perfectly there.
Only then did he look up, seeking the source of the noise. A nice motorbike came driving down the road, and Frank’s barks only grew more incessant the closer it got. The bike didn’t drive away, though. No, instead, it pulled into the driveway next to Ghost’s.
Oh, Christ, it was his neighbour.
He’d seen the house up for sale for a while, now, and saw it’d been sold the past month. He’d never fully sussed if the people had moved in until now, though.
Before he could rush himself and the still-growling Frank inside, Ghost realized he’d been staring at the biker, and the biker, now parked, was staring back. It was difficult to tell, through the visor, whether he was staring at Frank or Simon, though.
He tried to turn, walk inside, but as the motorbike shut off, he heard the man slip off his bike, and then approach. Frank’s growling intensified.
“Hey there,” His new neighbour said, slipping off his helmet. Simon blinked a few times as he looked him over. Somebody up there, if heaven existed, fucking hated him. A fucking mohawk, the prettiest blue eyes he’d seen, and a fucking gorgeous face – the man was handsome. His neighbour was every part his type.
Ghost was in hell.
This cushy little neighbourhood, and this nice suburban house, was his personal hell. At least he had Frank, to keep him somewhat sane.
“Feisty little fella, ain’t he?” The man asked, a smile quirking his pretty lips. Still in Simon’s arms, Frank seemed to settle somewhat, but was eyeing this mystery man with a great deal of suspicion.
“Sorry - I’m your neighbour. Name’s John MacTavish. Moved myself in just the other day,” One of his hands offered out for a handshake, and Simon’s heart hammered at the thought of shaking his hand.
What the hell was wrong with him?
… Ah, shit, he’d been leaving him hanging.
Adjusting Frank so he was carefully cradled in one hand, Simon offered out his own – gloved – hand, and shook John’s. “Simon,” he introduced, “and he’s Frank,”
“Frank? Oh, he’s a handsome man,” John cooed, “Can I say hi?”
Simon swallowed, and then crouched down, and placed Frank on the ground. “...Yeah.”
Rather than scare Frank by looming over him, John placed his helmet on the ground behind him, and then sat, cross-legged, on the floor, holding out a hand for the dog. Simon only watched, silently, as Frank tentatively sniffed John’s hand, and then his tail slowly began to wag. The little dog stepped closer, nudging against Johnny’s leather-coated leg, and then hopped into his lap.
“He likes you,” Simon commented.
The smile that crossed John’s lips made his heart freeze. Fuck, he wanted to see him smile like that more often.
Ghost felt almost like he’d been possessed. Maybe was something was wrong with him. A fever? A mental break? Maybe living outside of warfare, living a peaceful life, for a few months, had left his mind deteriorating.
He didn’t just get crushes on people.
Something was wrong.
“I’m glad!” John replied, using his teeth to tug off one of his gloves, a movement that was obscenely hot, and so fucking unfair. “Just doesn’t like the bike, does he? That’s fair. Noisy thing, aye?” He chuckled.
“And the helmet.” Simon informed.
“And the helmet,” John agreed, “So scary,”
“And dogs. And tree branches. And bicycles. And frisbees. And...” He trailed off, a dry amusement in his tone.
“Very sensible phobias. Who knows when a tree branch’ll conk you in the head? Or a cyclist will roll over your feet? Frank seems like a reasonable man,” John said, looking up at Simon with a smile.
“Frank’s scared of everything, Johnny,” Ghost informed, though his lips twitched upwards in amusement. Fucking hell, was he smiling? Maybe this was a mental break.
“Well,” Johnny began, still gently petting the dog, who had now decided that he enjoyed his company, “Can’t blame him for it. Little man, big world. Guess it’s nice he’s got a guy like you to look after him, eh?”
Simon Riley wasn’t blushing. He wasn’t. If anybody dare insinuate he was, he’d--
“It’s been good meeting you, and meeting Frank,” Johnny finally coaxed the little dog out of his lap and righted himself to a stand. Frank bumped his head against his leg, and then stepped away, returning to his usual duties of sniffing the grass, and eyeing any butterflies around suspiciously. “Gotta do some baking. My niece lives nearby, got a bake sale at school, I offered to help. Never quite figured out how to make cupcakes without burning them, but I’ll get it,” he grinned, squatting down to pick up his helmet. “I’ll see you around, hey?”
Simon nodded, glancing down at Frank, and trying to figure out how any of this worked. He was just a normal man, having a conversation with another normal man, who was his neighbour. That worked. He could do that.
“Sure,” he agreed, weakly. Fucking hell, he could hear the rest of the 141 laughing at him now, overly their weekly drinks. How could a few months make him lose his touch like this?
Then Johnny smiled again, and waved, and turned around, and Simon decided it wasn’t quite so bad.
Not when he had a view like that. A cursory glance around showed him that nobody had noticed him rather obviously staring at Johnny’s ass, but nobody did. Well, except for Frank, who was staring at him like he was judging him for everything.
Simon returned that look, for just a moment, before he walked back inside, and locked the door behind him. He took the harness off Frank, who ran into the living room and hopped up onto the sofa using the small stepping stool Ghost had left him. Ghost joined him on the sofa, after a moment. He turned on a movie, just for the background noise, trying to distract his mind.
His mind never stopped buzzing about Johnny, however. His new neighbour.
Fuck, he already had it bad for him. Maybe he should bake him some cakes. Just for... a housewarming gift, right? For his neighbour's niece.
Just... well... he hadn’t had much experience of making cupcakes.
It couldn’t be too difficult, right?