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It’s a small habit that Soap first notices during a mission, when Task Force 141 had just been formed.
Everyone is kitted up as usual, Ghost with the addition of his skull balaclava and skeleton gloves. Soap often wonders how he got ones with reinforced weave meant for wear and tear. Unless there was a specific manufacturer who was both ex-military and current metalhead fashionista, Soap can only assume Ghost made them himself.
At the last equipment check, Soap spots it. Ghost’s right hand reaches up to a specific spot of his grey jacket, the zipped up compartment on his left arm right under the grey Union Jack patch, and he gives it three pats in quick succession. It’s a small gesture that Soap paid no mind to back then, chalking it up as Ghost making sure something’s secured just right. Nothing to write home about.
Except he keeps on doing it.
Even prior to the change to an even spookier mask, he’s always done it to random parts of his body or his vest. It’s a habit that Soap thought was more of a self-comfort thing, perhaps just a little good luck charm that Ghost did to reassure himself that the mission would go well. That he’d done all he could as their commanding officer, and that doing a good job meant that everyone came home regardless of the mission’s outcome.
When the hard-shell mask becomes his new normal, Ghost keeps to the same ritual. It’s curious how he always seems to do it, regardless of circumstance. When he’s gripping the shoulder straps of his vest much like Price does, his fingers seem to wander down to ensure it’s touching the pocket on his chest just behind his handgun. Soap wants to ask, the question on the tip of his tongue, but he’s always distracted by something else.
So he lets the mystery of Ghost and his pre-mission habit spin in his head, over and over over, until the proverbial brain hamster keels over dead in its wheel.
The shit with Hassan, Shadow Company, and Las Almas takes over so much of his brain that he forgets for a while. Then he sees Ghost doing it again just before they set off with Rudy to rescue Alejandro and the rest of Los Vaqueros. Three pats in quick succession to the front of his vest; seems like Ghost wants this mission to be successful. And they are, blasting their way out of the prison and into Price and Gaz’s extremely welcome exfil.
And then the bastard just has to take off his mask and prove Soap extremely wrong about his looks. Gaz nudges him subtly, leaning in for a quick hip-check. Soap pinches the other Sergeant on the waist. Their tiny and brief scuffle is interrupted by the distribution of masks, and Soap tries not to react when Ghost covers up his face again.
What a damn shame.
It’s right before they nab Graves’ arse in the main building that Ghost does it again, breacher charge in place. Soap spies Ghost’s quick taps of his fingers to his chest, a subtle addition to Ghost adjusting the straps of his vest.
Soap assumes Ghost does it in Chicago, even though the two of them had split apart with different mission objectives.
Ghost still does it. It drives Soap bonkers, and no he hasn’t actually asked the man anything about it. The only thing he has asked Ghost to do is fuck him, both of them slightly drunk at some mandated-downtime outing. Glances and brief touches fizzling between them for the entire night until Soap had the spine to do something about it. It ends up being the best thing he’s ever asked.
Surely asking someone about a habit is much easier than asking someone for sex and possibly a next date.
Not for John MacTavish.
They’re lounging on base, a day after a mission that has them all exhausted. Soap leans against where Ghost is sitting on the old sofa with earphones plugged into his phone (and really, who still listens wired these days?), the earpieces hidden under his balaclava. Gaz sits nearby, feet kicked up on the coffee table and looking intently at his phone. No doubt on TikTok; he’s sent Soap ten in the span of five minutes.
Soap can hear the faint bass pulsing through in drones. He pokes at his partner until Ghost turns around, balaclava shifting as he lifts an eyebrow.
“What are you listening to?” he asks, hoping the dazzling smile he’s putting on is enough to butter up his partner.
“Screams of the damned,” Ghost deadpans.
Gaz snickers as Soap pouts and gives Ghost another poke.
“Fine,” Ghost sighs, “I lied. It’s Gregorian chanting that’ll summon me to the next battlefield.”
“... You’re such a fucking dickhead, Ghost,” Soap whines, though the noise is overtaken by Gaz’s loud cackling. He makes an indignant noise when Gaz reaches over to high-five Ghost, who reciprocates enthusiastically.
Soap doesn’t understand why Ghost takes such joy in bullying him. Or why he’s so defensive about what he’s listening to. He suspects it might actually be screams of the damned, or maybe the symphonic deathcore that he’s seen Ghost listen to sometimes.
Either way, he lets the incident slide and tries not to melt when Ghost cards his fingers through his mohawk and scratches at his scalp in the way that gets him sleepy.
He’ll concede this victory over to Ghost for now.
“You ever notice that Ghost tends to touch himself before a mission?”
It’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and Soap immediately regrets it as Gaz’s mouth contorts into a grimace. Lips pressed flat, the glimmer in Gaz’s eyes fades away to disappointment.
“Not like that–” Soap sputters out, face turning pink, “you know I don’t mean it like that.”
“Soap, my beloved brother-in-arms,” Gaz drawls out, with the patience of a saint and the judgement of a full jury, “whatever comes out of your mouth is a fucking wildcard. Also, unlike a certain someone, I don’t bat my eyelashes at Ghost. So no, I don’t notice.”
Soap couldn’t help but pout. Of course the other Sergeant wouldn’t notice, but still, he won’t back down.
“What I mean, Garrick, ” Soap says, smirking at the expression that Gaz pulls at the full surname, “is that just before every mission, Ghost does three little pats to his vest or whatever. Surely you’ve noticed him doing it.”
Gaz squints at him, leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Come to think of it, I do remember something like that. Ghost was patting his pockets and I thought he’d lost something. But he just brushed it off, saying something about how he was just making sure everything was in place.”
Aha! So it wasn’t just a habit that only Soap got to witness but something that Ghost always did regardless of who was watching. He wasn’t fucking bonkers, Ghost is just a weirdo.
“You stalking him or something Soap?” Gaz tilts his head, fully facing Soap as if he were staging an intervention. “You’re already his boyfriend, no need to further be a creep you know.”
“I’m not stalking him!” Soap protests, “I’m merely trying to point out an admittedly cute habit he has.”
“... Only you’d call Ghost cute.” Gaz scoffs.
“Cease and desist your judging Garrick,” Soap sneers, only to be met by judgement.
“I simply shall not, MacTavish.”
Damn it all.
“What’s with you always patting yer damn pockets, Ghost?” Soap grumbles from where he’s sprawled out on Ghost’s bed.
Ghost freezes, standing with his back to Soap. It’s the way that Ghost seems shy in facing him, peeking over his shoulder from where he’s half-way in taking his shirt off. The cord from his headphones dangles over his spine as he takes the balaclava off and throws it onto the dresser. The headphones are black with a subtle sparkle and a little skull symbol on it. It’s adorable, if Soap’s being honest. Not something that he thought Ghost would like but each to their own.
“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Ghost mutters, hands busy trying to fold his shirt to a manageable mess and avoiding Soap’s gaze.
Soap suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that Ghost is deflecting. He sits up, arms crossing over his chest and stares Ghost down as the taller man stands there with his hands on his hips. Their mental battle seems to be tipping over to Soap’s favour, because Ghost sighs and runs a hand through his hair, almost in defeat.
“Fine. I’ll tell you. But–” Ghost leans in, grabbing Soap’s face with his bare hand until his cheeks squish together. Voice dropping to a threatening timbre, “swear you won’t tell a fucking soul about this.”
“Swear on my life.” Soap mumbles through the squish, relieved when Ghost lets his face go but scrunching his nose when Ghost leans back, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed.
“... I’m going to need more reassurance than that Johnny.”
“Fuckin–” Soap throws his hands up into the air, flopping back down on the bed. “Fine! I swear on… fuck, on me Nan’s garden that I won’t tell a soul. You know how much she loves that fucking garden, Simon. She keeps emailing you updates about her roses!”
That seems to satisfy Ghost, who takes a deep breath and walks over to where his vest is, unzipping the front pocket and taking something out. There’s a moment of hesitation before he turns around and shows Soap.
It’s a photo, not quite a polaroid, of a young man with hearts on his cheeks. Soap can’t help but blink, opening his mouth but only a strangled “ Ah” coming out. He doesn’t really know what to say; it’s so far beyond what he thought would be in Ghost’s pocket.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s Suga.”
“Bless you?” Soap tries, not sure if Ghost actually said something.
The deadpan stare he’s levelled with has enough force to actually incinerate someone.
“From BTS.”
“Who?”
“They’re K-pop Johnny, keep up.”
“Oh! Think my niece mentioned she likes them. Alright, why do you have a K-pop boy band… boy in the pocket of your vest.”
“Alright first of all,” Ghost retorts, seemingly offended, “It’s a K-pop boy group . Second of all, because I’m a fan. And third, why not? Other fans keep him in their wallets, I just have a bulletproof vest on me at all times.”
“Have you had this with you for the last few years?” Soap exclaims, flipping over the card in his hands.
“Of course not,” Ghost scoffs, looking properly scandalised. “I rotate different photocards depending how I feel.”
Ghost reaches into his desk and brings out a little folder. He opens it up to reveal more photocards. Not always of the same member, but predominantly this Suga person. Soap flips through the different cards, noting the brightness of them compared to Ghost’s usual attire.
“Found them somewhat by accident, one of those nights where you just go through Youtube not giving a shit what’s playing and thought their music was catchy. Started to look more into them and picked a favourite.”
Ghost’s voice mellows out, a softness in his words that speaks of his respect and quiet love. It makes Soap blink, seeing the tiny smile on Ghost’s lips.
“Suga’s a rapper and producer for them. His solo work is really good too, more hip-hop based than what BTS is known for but guess that’s why I prefer it some days.”
“Also, I–” Ghost starts, as if the words catch in his throat, “I like the message they communicate. It’s the complete opposite of how I grew up, but they say it’s okay to be comfortable with what I like, and to ignore the perceptions of those around me. To just be… me. At the end of the day it’s just music. Here, have a listen.”
It seems that Soap’s tapped into something in Ghost; soon enough they’re both squished on the bed together with an earphone each and Soap can’t help but think it’s adorable that Ghost is trying so hard to make sure the song he chooses is something that Soap would like. He wouldn’t have taken Ghost for a music aficionado, or someone who listened to a plethora of genres. Divorced dad rock seemed to be the type of music people in their line of work listen to, but it’s refreshing for someone like Ghost to actually be a fan of something out of the norm.
The music is bright, the soft instrumentals and punchy synths makes him bop his head to the beat. Sure he doesn’t know what they’re saying, but Ghost is right in that it doesn’t really matter, the music is good and that’s all there is to it. The difference in vocals between the members has him reeling, but he doesn’t hate it. He glances to the side where Ghost has his eyes closed, hand tapping the beat where it rests on Soap’s thigh.
“It’s good! I like it.” Soap smiles, though the glint in Ghost’s eyes makes him wary. It’s the glint that indicates he’s in for it now.
“Excellent,” is all Ghost says before pulling out his laptop with malicious glee, “because I’m going to show you a video now.”
Somehow, Soap gets suckered into watching A Guide to BTS Members: The Bangtan 7 . At first glance, it’s too fucking long with a runtime of nearly 50 minutes, but it leaves him craving for more and Soap immediately starts looking for a new video to queue up on Ghost’s laptop. It’s all of their music videos, starting from most of their earliest because Ghost insists that Soap go chronologically to appreciate the evolution of their artistry. The rabbit hole that Ghost has kicked him into seems never-ending, but his Lieutenant’s guiding hand means that he gets to wonderland relatively easily.
“Have you ever seen them live?” Soap asks, craning his neck to look over at Ghost.
“Once.” Ghost shrugs, as if that wasn’t a revelation for Soap.
“Once– really? When was that?” Now his interest is piqued, giving his partner his full attention.
“2019, before that whole thing with Barkov and 141 formed. Went with some…” Ghost trails off, as if trying to find the right word, “friends.”
“ You have K-pop fan friends?” Soap gawks, “wee teenyboppers that you went with?”
There’s a beat of silence where Ghost squints at Soap, grimacing, and what is it with people grimacing at him today? He asks a question and that seems to be the default emotion on everyone’s face.
Soap just waits patiently for Ghost to break the silence.
“Fine, it was my fucking neighbour and their daughter. Got a flat down in London, when I was moving in years ago they stopped by to say hello and we got talking. Always dropping food off when I’m on leave. I say friends lightly, because they terrorise me.”
It’s gruff, but Soap can tell that Ghost is actually quite fond of said neighbours. It’s in the slight twitch of his lips at the last sentence, part exasperation and part humour.
“Aw, that’s cute. You being neighbourly and all.”
Ghost grunts and flicks at the tip of Soap’s ear, causing the younger man to yelp.
“What do you think?” Ghost asks, a sliver of anxiety in his voice, waiting for Soap’s answer. It does make Soap pause to consider his words. This is something that Ghost has kept close to his chest for longer than they’ve worked together professionally, something that was there first before Soap had fully entered his life. Of course he would be protective over his hobbies.
“I think they’re really good, next time they’re in the UK for a concert we should definitely go together.” Soap offers, grinning up at Ghost. The idea of the man head and shoulders above an ocean of fangirls and cheering loudly is doing Soap’s head in, but it would be imprinted in his brain as one of the best things he gets to witness.
There’s a little spark in Ghost’s eyes at Soap’s easy acceptance, before that too extinguishes and Ghost purses his lips.
“Won’t be for a long time I’m afraid. They’re off to do their mandatory service.”
“Beg yer pardon?”
“They all have to do their mandatory military service. There’s not going to be any group activities until 2025 at the earliest. Someone made a hypothetical timeline on Twitter on when everyone would be out. Hang on, I had it saved somewhere.”
Soap did not realise Ghost had any social media. Especially not Twitter. That’s not something that he’d usually touch either way, being one of the cesspits of the Internet. When Ghost shoves his phone in Soap’s face, he takes a hot minute to register everything in his sight.
“Why is your Twitter name aghost_d? Why is ‘ Yoongi marry me’ in your bio? What the fuck you have over twenty thousand followers?! Simon, Simon, what the fuck.”
“How about you stop talking?”
“How many bleedin’ episodes of Run BTS are there?”
“Lost count after I binged ten in a row.”
“Simon, what the fuck.”
Ghost looks up from where he’s sitting in Price’s office, Soap invading the Captain’s chair with his feet kicked up on the desk. Earphones on and waving his phone in front of Ghost’s face. Soap’s watching an early episode, judging by the colour of their hairs, and he can’t help but chuckle.
“There’s a lot to watch, you got Twitter yet?”
“No! Because I dinnae what to name myself! Can’t be a proper stan without a cool Twitter handle.”
“Have you chosen a bias?”
Soap scowls at him, pouting fiercely, before going back to watching Run BTS and not helping Ghost with the paperwork like he said he would. To be honest, Ghost is extremely pleased that Soap’s sharing his hobby now. He does want to know who exactly Soap’s bias is, planning to go through to his photocard folder to find the perfect one for Soap’s first card.
After that, he’s on his own and has to buy his own albums and trades.
“I don’t know, I like everyone pretty equally. Feels wrong to have just one favourite, you know? They’re all really good in their own way.” Soap murmurs, eyes wide in distress.
“You’ll get there eventually, everyone develops a bias eventually and then a bias wrecker, and then swap biases after some time, and then rotate through everyone until you reach your ultimate bias.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Course not, I’m better than that.” Ghost feels insulted that Soap thought he was that basic. “I knew exactly who I was going for.”
“Should I be feeling jealous that you’re thinking so much about other men?”
“Alright pipe down MacTavish, no need to get your knickers in a twist.”
Soap laughs. Ghost rolls his eyes.
“Well, if I had to choose, I think I really like J-Hope. He’s just… sunshine, you know?”
Oh, oh .
Ghost doesn’t usually pay attention to what the other stans say about pairs and their biases. But Soap saying that J-Hope might be his bias? Maybe there was something about how every Suga stan needs their J-Hope stan.
“I do. Wait here.”
He’s up on his feet and power-walking to his room to grab the photocard folder. He’s been trying to choose which one to give Soap as his first, knows that it needs to be special but also hoping he wasn’t a Suga stan because that would mean he had to share the goods. He had worked hard to build his collection, he wasn’t about to go sharing them out all willy-nilly.
He fishes one out from the folder and makes sure it’s in a little protective plastic sleeve before going back to Price’s office where Soap was. He offers the card to Soap, waits for him to see who it is.
“You’re giving me Hobi?”
There’s a reverence in Soap’s voice, blue eyes staring up at him like Ghost had handed him something absolutely precious.
“I am, take care of him and keep him safe.”
“With my life Lt. I’ll make sure he’s safe in my bulletproof vest.”
“Good boy.”
This isn’t a real proposal, but it may as well be. Ghot needs to introduce Soap to the forums so he can buy and trade photocards. It’s better than the both of them buying multiples of the same album and ending up with too many albums.
The ring is being saved for another occasion anyways.
In all honesty, marriage wasn’t something that Ghost had really thought about prior to meeting Soap. Hearing stories made weddings seem terribly tedious, or a large and financially wasteful event. But planning his wedding with Soap? That was a breeze. Maybe it’s because they’re both military and treated this as an actual op rather than a wedding, where they had checklists and deadlines and everything plotted out to the T like their lives depended on it. Ghost knows that Price was actually impressed at how much better written out the wedding plans were than their actual reports. No doubt he’s expecting that level of care to be put into their paperwork from now on.
Ghost wasn’t one to post on social media, nor was he someone who would show his face, but there was a terrible yet hilarious idea brewing in his head that he knows would go viral and it would be the best thing to ever happen in his life as a stan.
The wedding photos turned out beautifully. The photographer was somehow able to bring out the life in the still images, showing vibrancy in the otherwise dull colour of his dress uniform and Soap’s tartan kilt. It’s a photo he knows he’ll hang up on the wall of their home, or put on his desk. Either way, definite winner alongside his favourite photo of Soap getting squished under his siblings and their kids during Christmas.
Once he’s able to cover both his and Soap’s faces in emojis, triple checking that nothing gave them away, he posts it.
‘Sorry Yoongi, I got married despite what my bio says. Double ARMY or whatever. Find your Hobi stan.’
It’s not long before the people who follow him start liking it, retweeting and going ballistic in his replies. He’s never made any references to his gender, or his orientation. And the irony that he was actually in the Army while being ARMY isn’t lost to him. He’s a sucker for a shitty joke, and this one wrote itself. He mutes his phone, lets Kpop Twitter implode over his photo and waits until Soap yells at him for being an unapologetic Suga stan.
He hears the beginning synths of Spring Day start up from their kitchen, counts down to when the lyrics start and can’t help but smile when Soap’s butchered, and extremely accented, Korean overtakes the actual vocals.
God he loves this man.
When he does make his way to the kitchen, he leans against the doorframe and watches as Soap uses a wooden spoon as a microphone to belt out the lyrics. It’s the energy of a concert contained into a small kitchen, with Soap failing quite miserably at the rapping parts.
“Enjoying yourself? Jin would be proud.”
“Yes! And I have Cypher 4 queued up just for you.”
Fucking hell, he loves this man.