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Echoes were triggered by his boots steadily pacing through the corridor. Blinking fluorescent lamps buzzed, as always reminding Ghost of the hospital. For fuck knows which time, he was walking down that hallway, now remembering every scratch on the ugly, yellow paint that it was decorated with. Not a particularly good job, there were visible smudges all over. He was never the aesthetic type, but his perfectionism was disturbed by that poor job. He gritted his teeth and sped up.
It was 7am at the base located on the shittiest coast of northern Great Britain. Sunday. That meant there was no morning briefing. Ghost has always maintained the same routine, a true man of habit. Morning cigarette, a half hour jog, breakfast, briefing if there was one, coffee, another cigarette and gym. People always rolled his eyes at him, especially rookies. Ghost, if he would allow himself to interact with them in any way, would roll his eyes too. He didn’t really care, as long as Soap wouldn’t roll his eyes.
Soap. Johnny.
He wondered why at the thought of Johnny he was always alerted. His numbness, his dead piece of mind was lit up whenever he was in his range of view. It was scary, because it was uncontrollable. Ghost tried and tried so many times to stop this vicious cycle of affection, but each and every time he failed. Just as he worked on developing numbness over this case as well, they… got together? Ghost and Soap, Simon and Johnny.
It was as if he took a breath after holding it for a long time. Such a long time.
After a while, he got to the gym. It was surprisingly well equipped, brand new machines and a couple of fine working treadmills. He adjusted the towel around his neck and headed to the locker room, quickly looking around the gym. It was empty. As it should be this early. Ghost noticed that, for some reason, soldiers here preferred to work out in the evening. Not like he minded.
He would always pick the same locker, precisely the one marked with the worn-out number 8. Habit. One of many.
He changed his black service hoodie with a bolded "lieutenant" lettering on the back to another black, plain hoodie and long sweatpants to match. Not much more in his closet anyway. He had a tight T-shirt underneath, but he would only take his hoodie off when there was no one else at the gym. Mirror to his back, he headed out, only taking a water bottle, a towel and lifting straps with him. Of course, the balaclava stayed on. Back in the days, he would only work out in headphones, but it recalled too many memories. Besides, he wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings this way.
Last century it was, it seemed.
He got on with his warm up, grimacing at the pain at his lower back. It was two weeks since they got back from Thailand, but the wound was still announcing itself in the least suitable moments. It was mostly healed right now, but he had to be careful not to tear the nasty scabs that formed. And stop himself from picking at them. Another habit. Out of spite, barely a day after Simon and Johnny got back and finally got some sleep, the scot, along with Gaz, were sent on another mission, details of which were not revealed to Ghost. When he found out, he was so confused about how he felt about it. A part of him was happy, because he had time to think about all the things that went down and kind of come to terms with it. Another part of him was already longing for Soap, nervous of not having him around, which connected to the third side of his inner conflict.
He was scared. Scared of losing him. Ghost knew damn well that their fob was at extremely high risk and basically involved risking your own life. Military really was quite a shitty place to develop a relationship. And he knew that damn well too.
After he was finished with his warm up, he moved on and settled his stuff on the floor near the pull-up bar he always used – in the corner, mirror to the back, full view on both entrances. He took his hoodie off a while before, not wanting to start sweating. It was upper body day today, so the plan was pull ups, lat pulldown, bench press and shoulder press. Ghost tightened his grip straps and only then began to slowly annihilate his back muscles. Pain was welcomed, deafening his thoughts and leaving a calm and focused stream of consciousness. Injuries hurted, muscles hurted. He felt it and it was real, simple. A habit. He was just minding his business, starting to struggle at around 50 pull ups, when suddenly, the pleasant silence at the gym was disrupted by the doors slamming, which was shortly followed by a two men's lively chatter and laughs. Ghost would have ignored it but after a second, he was shook by a realization. He knew that voice, the harsh Scottish accent. It was Johnny.
He immediately let go of the bar and turned around, but Soap and Gaz, as Ghost identified the also familiar figure next to him, were turned with their backs to him and probably didn’t even recognize him. The chatter was soon deafened by the locker room doors and Ghost got left with silence. He immediately started sweating, certainly not from the exercise.
He told himself he would figure things out by the time Soap got back, but he didn’t. He only sat down one day, smoked half a pack of cigarettes and considered all his options. He could: act normal, ignore him, show his affection as he would if they were alone, kidnap him or fly somewhere far away, alone, to New Zealand for instance, to never be found again. Of course, every option except the first one had to be eliminated. No way he was risking losing his job to engaging into a relationship which involved a member of his team. Quitting was not an option too, because Ghost couldn’t imagine himself in another place than the military. He was alone, he had no one and no idea what he would do with all the free time. Kidnaping was technically possible, but only technically. He wasn’t sure if he could take Soap in a fight.
He couldn’t even take his mere presence now.
A few minutes passed. Ghost swallowed and rolled his shoulders, ready to resume his set. He decided that he would improvise. He firmly grabbed the pull up bar again and lifted himself up and down, at a steady pace. His back was sore as fuck, but he ignored it.
His stomach twisted at the sound of the doors opening. He forced himself not to stop the exercise and get 55 pull ups. The conversation he heard Gaz and Soap having has gone silent, so he figured he got recognized.
"Hey LT, long time no see," called out Soap carefully, finally breaking the silence that fell. God, Simon missed his voice.
"Sergeant," was the best Ghost could get out of himself, because he was in between breaths, his muscles already protesting. He felt them flex, the fabric of his shirt tight around his arms irritating him. He felt exposed. He could’ve put his hoodie back on. He was really struggling, every muscle fiber burning with pain and someone's gaze. Soap was always so obvious with where he looked. At the briefings Ghost always literally felt how the bastard ate him with his stare.
He had to face reality now, as he was finished with the set. He failed at 53 pull ups and felt like shit about it. Last time, before the injury, Ghost remembered doing 60. Releasing his white-knuckle grip, he dropped to the floor and slowly turned around, standing tall and rubbing his traps with one hand.
And there he was. Wearing a shirt too tight to be appropriate and deep blue shorts. First thing Ghost thought about was that they match his eyes.
"Some solid reps I see" Johnny chuckled awkwardly and put his hands behind his back, clearly uncomfortable. Or intimidated. Ghost’s tattoo sleeve was on full display, as well as his scars and muscles. Simon felt the need to cover himself, but he found a deep, guilty satisfaction in how the other man reacted to his presence. Things really fucking changed. God, they need to talk it through.
"Bullshit. Last week I hit more. Back so soon?" Ghost asked and shifted his bodyweight to his left foot, leaning over a bar and crossing his arms tight around his chest. He smirked underneath his mask when Soap cleared his throat and faked a cough, taking a little step back. Was it that easy to make him squirm?
"Most boring fucking mission ever. Been lyin’round in the mud for 5 days on a lookout with a sniper rifle. Thought that my balls would fall off," joked Gaz, saving the situation. He was clearly unaware of the tension between Simon and Johnny. Ghost has never been more grateful for his presence in his life.
"When did you two get back?
"Hour ago. The flight was dull too. He kept falling on my shoulder in his sleep." Gaz shook his head in amusement and poked Soap on the shoulder. Johnny only rolled his eyes and combed through his hair, quickly glancing at Ghost.
"‘t was comfortable," he mumbled.
"Yeah, anyway. What you hittin’ today?" resumed Gaz. He seemed rather energetic. Ghost slowly traced his eyes between the two. He knew his thoughts were insane, but the first thing he wondered about was if Soap found Gaz attractive. Simon was going crazy.
"Upper. Lat pulldown next." Ghost tilted his head and shot Johnny a look. "Wanna work in with me?”
Some time after, they were mostly finished with the workout. Johnny, unlike himself, was rather quiet and Gaz did the most talking. He still didn’t seem to acknowledge the tension between Ghost and Soap. The scot was clearly looking forward to being left alone with Ghost and, at the same time, terrified of it. He only fumed when Gaz beat him in bench press, clearly getting more reps. He didn’t beat Ghost though. Not even close.
Gaz, to Ghost's horror, decided to leave early, excusing himself with Price’s request. At the end, he probably realized that some shit was on. As soon as he left, locker room doors clanging loud, Soap exploded, saying out loud the thing he has been choking on since they met up today:
"I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you that I’m leaving, I really didn’t want it to turn out like that" he babbled, pacing in front of Ghost, fake stretching his neck which indicated that he was stressed as hell. Simon learned to read his body language. "It was just, like, sudden and I didn’t know myself, Price said it was top secret and super stealth so we had to leave immediately and…”
"It’s fine" Ghost cut him off, voice gentle, and stood up from the bench. The height difference hit and Soap suddenly felt small. He wanted to cry. Ghost wanted to hug him, but he restrained himself. This was no place for intimacy. "Let's finish, yeah? We’ll talk later." Simon got on top of his comforting skills. He really didn’t blame Soap for what happened.
Ghost moved on to the bench for the shoulder press and did his set, quicker than usual. He felt Soap’s eyes on him the whole time, even though he was standing behind him. As they switched places, Soap unexpectedly leaned in Ghost’s direction
"You look good" he said in an undertone, electric blue eyes blinking innocently. Ghost didn’t respond, pretty sure his voice would break if he spoke up. He just swallowed with his throat clenched. Fuck.
When Johnny took a seat on the bench, Ghost figured it couldn’t hurt to stare for a little bit, though he usually forced himself to look away.
The precise but firm movement of Johnny’s arms made Ghost wonder about when and how he even found out that he liked Soap, in terms of looks. When they first met at the airport, he was struck by his still and at the same time energetic movements. By how he walked, how he talked, how bold he was by bumping his shoulder and chatting to him like they were old friends. He was giving the energy of a person that knows what they’re doing and is exactly where they want to be. Simon liked genuine, honest people.
Simon never really questioned his sexuality before, also had very little and rather negative experience in this field. He just kind of… felt the attraction as Johnny grew on him. He hadn’t ever met a woman who he’d find attractive. Ghost guessed that women were just attractive in another way than Soap was to him. Not necessarily in terms of looks, more of just a general image they were presenting of themselves.
They saw Gaz leave the locker room before, so they were all alone now. Ghost took a deep breath and cracked his joints when him and Soap were done for today. He knew Soap hated that, but deep down, Ghost savored annoying him. Soap grimaced at the sound and attempted to smack Simon’s shoulder, but Ghost reflexively dodged the threat. They were walking back to the locker room.
"1-0, sergeant. Better luck next time.”
Right as Ghost was going through his stuff in his locker, Soap snapped out of nowhere: "I have a… question,” he hesitated. “How good are you with haircuts?" investigated Johnny, tilting his head. Ghost sighed and turned around to face Soap. He was expressly tugging at too-long hair strands spread all across his forehead, some even long enough to reach his eyebrows. "I need a hand in getting this together. And we got sent to too much of a shithole for a barber to be around. “
Ghost, again, felt his guts squeeze in excitement and nervousness. He was just offered a chance to touch Soap’s hair.
"Not gonna say no, given the state you’re in" he concealed his aggravation with humor.
"Thanks, LT" Soap visibly relaxed and gave Ghost one of his flashy, bright smiles he loved seeing so much.
Fucking hell, he’s going to be the death of me, thought Simon to himself. After a while, he started to go on with his business. Mindful of Soap’s presence, he took his shirt off and started searching for a hoodie.
"Quit it" he grunted, feeling Soap’s gaze on his back for a numerous time." Or take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
"Don't know what you’re talking about" smarted Soap off, a playful note in his voice. He was the one to tease, Ghost knew it for sure now.
Simon turned his head halfway to shoot him a glare and finally covered himself with his hoodie. By the time he was changing, his back to the locker occupied by Soap, The other man had already managed to strip for a shower. Only a towel, dangerously low on his hips, he shot him a very weird look and pointed to the shower section with his thumb.
"‘don’t have a fucking private shower like you.”
"I’ll wait" grumbled Ghost, trying to look everywhere but at Soap.
Back from the gym, the two walked down the hallway to Ghost’s room. It was time to talk, but Ghost refused to say anything until they were alone, in a private space. He was longing for explanations and a bit of fucking clarity of whatever was going on. Head buzzing with thoughts, Ghost unlocked his quarters and let Soap in. For the first time.
Johnny looked around, curiously but respectfully. Nothing in here was really standing out, it was clean and tidy. Almost as if nobody was living there. The only thing that differed this room from Soap’s own were thick, steel gray curtains on the window, now halfway covering the sun rays. No personal things, no pictures, except for the phone charging on the nightstand by the bed.
Soap wondered what wallpaper was on Ghost’s lockscreen. "Probably a default picture,” he thought. God, he wanted to get to know Simon, really know him, know the person he built behind the mask.
Ghost came over to the window to smoke, locking the door behind him and ignoring the obvious rule of no smoking inside of the building. Of course.
"Want one?" he held the package out towards Soap. Soap shook his head, but came closer and leaned on the wall next to Ghost. He now had a chance to look at his jawline, clean shaved this time, as he pulled his balaclava up. He couldn’t decide which version he liked better. Soon, the room was full of smoke, swirling calmly as the air flew through the open window. It was surprisingly warm, a refreshing breeze coming from the nearby sea.
"We need to… talk shit through," said Soap, combing through his mohawk. "Not gonna lie, when I was on that fucken lookout for hours it really messed with me.”
"Me too" Ghost took a drag and glanced at Soap next to him. He thought he would be more nervous, but, surprisingly, he was calm. He had no idea how it worked, but the second he was with Soap, his crowding thoughts instantly dissolved. A stream of consciousness he’d call it. Or maybe comfort?
The squirming, struggle, tiredness. The sad. He was sick of it.
"I don’t know about you, but I don't want to lose my job, so as much as I’d like it, we can't go around holding hands" Soap decided to start, keeping in mind that Ghost could sit in silence for hours. He didn’t get a response, but he knew that Ghost was listening closely, paying attention. He always did. They fit each other well, because Soap liked to talk and Simon preferred to listen.
"Y’know, Simon" mumbled Soap and stepped closer, placing a hand on Ghost’s forearm. "We don’t have to really change anything. All I want is for you to trust me. The rest will hopefully sort itself out. And…" he hesitated, biting at his pouty bottom lip "A kiss sometimes would be nice.”
Ghost felt chills running down his spine, but stayed still.
"So we still want the same then" he whispered, it seemed like, to himself, referring to their conversation at the hotel. His cigarette was nearly finished, Ghost took two last, quick and greedy drags and extinguished it on the outside part of the windowsill. There was already quite a pile there. Then, he slowly raised his hand, a smell of tobacco strong on Soap’s nostrills. He combed through Soap’s hair and messed it up even more than it was. Something inside Soap’s chest fluttered, he glued his eyes to Simon’s face.
"Come on, let’s take this extra weight off." Ghost gestured him over to the bathroom, escaping from the intimacy he himself arranged.
As they were walking to the bathroom, Ghost was resolving an abrupt inner conflict that just appeared in his head. Had he not pulled away, they would have probably ended up kissing, maybe even taking it a step further. For some reason, he felt like the conversation about their relationship status wasn’t finished yet. If the relationship in question was even a relationship. Something was missing. And he knew he was the one with the missing part, but he was clueless. Ghost never thought about it, but he actually has never been exposed to a healthy relationship pattern. In fact, he had very little knowledge about relationships at all. Not living outside the military has definitely taken its toll on him. Before he enlisted, he just lived with his father, who was no pattern on anything, also only seen destruction, whores and fear in people’s eyes.
Because there was no chair in Ghost’s quarters, they had to perform the haircut standing on their feet.
"Don’t worry, I’m taller than you" smirked Simon, a flash of his teeth caught by Soap’s attentive gaze. He scoffed in response. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other and played with his fingers. Ghost noticed that, but said nothing. He was still unsure of what he should do to get the conversation to finish. For then, it remained unsolved.
With an electric razor in his hand, Ghost started discussing the haircut with Soap. He was surprisingly having fun, partly because he could touch his hair with impunity.
"I like it long" responded Ghost to Johnny’s question if he agreed with his vision. Soap wanted the mohawk to be short, easier to manage. Ghost wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he loved the long, messy strands, the natural wavy look that Soap’s hair was falling into.
"You do?" Johnny was confused, he even turned his head slightly to face Ghost.
Ghost nodded, swallowing. He studied how Soap’s expression changed, from confusion through amusement to something very soft and very private. Soap looked at him in the mirror, his head slowly tilting to the back. He swayed on his feet a little bit, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes indicating that he was hiding a smile. He couldn’t hide it from Ghost though.
"Let’s keep it long then" his smile came through, but he was still trying to stop it. Ghost’s hand slipped to his arm, squeezing it gently.
"You sure?" Ghost wanted to make sure he wouldn’t regret this decision and wasn’t making it under the influence of his statement.
Johnny nodded. He turned his head to Ghost standing behind him, their faces close. Ghost smiled back, if a broken and restrained curve of his lips could be called a smile. He still had his balaclava half up after the cigarette, the scent of tobacco overwhelming Soap.
Ghost, hesitantly, started working on getting Johnny’s hair together. They both relaxed, only a buzzing of the device breaking the comfortable silence between them. It was mesmeric, peaceful. Ghost focused on how his hands looked at Soap’s hair, how it was falling on the floor as he was dragging the razor through it. He pinned his brows together in concentration, not wanting to mess anything up. He actually had experience with cutting hair, because he always did it by himself. Main reason was that he would have to take his mask off if he went to get it done. It also wasn’t that important how the haircut looked, because it was always hidden anyway. He always went for his sides short, keeping his dirty blonde curls longer on top. Once, Ghost tried a buzzcut. It was when he was not having a great time and decided to just fucking cut his hair. As soon as he was done, he realized that it was not the best look for him. He did not regret it though, in fact, it was easier to manage. But he decided to stick to his usual look anyway. He liked to think that it suited his face, as the curls softened his sharp features a bit.
With Soap’s haircut he did his best. It was certainly easier to do someones’ hair than his own. He could reach the back more easily, make it even. He kind of combined both their ideas, leaving the middle part of the mohawk longer and reducing the length as it went down his head. It was neat, but a bit uneven at the buzz-shaved parts. Soap didn’t seem to mind though. Ghost took a step back and leaned against the wall behind him, observing Soap. Johnny ran his hands through the cut, shaking it around and squinting his eyes at the loose bits of hair that fell down. His shirt was all covered in it too, he started to move it around to flick it away.
"Thanks LT" he said enthusiastically and glanced at Ghost in the mirror. Ghost hasn’t moved an inch. Soap carefully inspected his reflection, turning around to catch a better angle, moving the hair around. The dark wavy strands suited his tan skin perfectly, adding his face character and sharpness thanks to the short-shaved sides.
Ghost was in the bathroom physically, but not mentally. His thoughts wandered far away, he tried to find a way out of the situation he was stranded in. He was a man of few words, preferred to communicate through his actions rather than with words, but in this case the first option he already tried and it still proved no clarity. He tried to act it out in his mind, imagine a solution, but the usually sharp mind seemed to stutter. Soap muddled it, his presence alone turned everything off, like a killswitch. To even get a general gist of what he thought was right to do in their current position, he had to get on top of his analysation skills. When he wanted to press him tight to his chest and never let go, all that came out was a scowl and a defensive body posture. Instead of joking, he retorted, instead of being open he distanced himself. He was corrosive. He was no good for Johnny.
The funniest thing was that Soap knew that damn well and still proceeded to break through all of Ghost’s walls, a strenuous job. Like now. He faced Ghost, mirror and sink to his back, piercing him with his eyes, face beaming shit knows why. He was like Ghost’s personal sunshine, bright and burning. He was taking him apart, piece by piece. It was scary for Ghost, unknown. Every time he was making small talk he felt like he was letting people in on a secret. He held his tongue, minced his words so as not to get too exposed. With Soap, however, Ghost felt safe. He thought about what he said to him at the hotel. “I’m no threat, Simon”. And Simon believed that, but Ghost was still not convinced. Should he risk it all and open up?
Fuck Ghost, Simon thought to himself.
Without a word, Ghost firmly grabbed Soap’s wrist and dragged him out of the bathroom, to the main room. Soap was surprised, but he had no time to react, because he was abruptly planted on the bed, the thing squeaking a little. There was a little coffee table in front of it, and Ghost sat there, menacingly staring into Soap. There was an appropriate distance between them, but Ghost reduced it a little by resting his hands on his bent knees. He looked dangerous, all in black, tired sparkling eyes fixed on Johnny through a skull-printed balaclava.
And he started talking. Words were flowing out, restrained too long, like a waterfall, flooding Soap with information he soaked in. He never distracted Ghost, not wanting to break the trance he seemed to be in. He listened closely but not in an intimidating way, provided understatement like he was made for making people comfortable around him. Ghost told him everything. About his childhood, his father, his hurt and revenge, the coffin, the tortures, the sleepless nights and insomnia, the addiction, the trauma, his life. They sat in front of each other for about an hour. He didn’t stutter once. If Soap didn’t know him well, he’d be convinced that Ghost was just indifferent, judging by his dry and gravel voice tone. But it was the opposite, he could see it in his eyes.
Ghost stood up, legs shaky.
"You know what I can do with this fucking hands, Johnny? "Ghost swayed on his feet, as he was raising his palms to level with his head. His voice nastily broke, distorted by a deep furious note. "Christ, do you know what I fucking…" He clenched his fists tight, white knuckles showing through his calloused and scarred skin. He wanted to scream.
Soap sensed the moment perfectly. He stood up and, asking for permission with his eyes, wrapped his arms around Ghost’s torso, grabbing it tight. The hug was the best he could do, the only form of support he could provide for Ghost at this moment. There was not really anything he could say to such a confession he just got. Soap felt Ghost inhale ant twitch, his arms returning the hug, clenching around Soap as if he was a lifeline. In that quiet embrace, Soap could feel the weight of Ghost's vulnerability, the unspoken pain that lingered beneath the tough exterior. The room seemed to stand still as they held onto each other. Soap's grip tightened, offering a silent promise of comfort. They stayed locked in that embrace for a while, Ghost, however, didn’t let his guard be put down for too long. He pulled away abruptly.
"Don’t pity me. I don’t want it" Ghost’s tone suddenly dropped, lingering between a dangerous growl and an evasive statement. He was tattered by the amount of trust he just gave Soap. It’s not like he didn’t trust him. He did. But there was an inner blockade within him that nothing could seem to breach. He shook his head and started pacing around the room, his boots pecking an uneven rhythm at the floor as he was swaying a little bit. Soap could almost hear him think, beat himself up. He was not sure if it wasn’t too much of a burden for Ghost to let out at once. It was true that Ghost confessed it to Soap by himself, opened up, but Johnny was still feeling guilty about knowing all the secrets that were kept from him for so long, buried deep and most likely never uncovered for anyone. It was exclusive. All for him. That was the deepest kind of connection he ever established with Ghost. He was still worried though, worried of how the other one would take it. Ghost was still walking around, avoiding eye contact.
"I don’t pity you" Soap was suddenly struck by a sudden wave of determination. He was sick of seeing pain in Ghost’s eyes he so desperately tried to cover. He wanted to end it.
Soap took a deep breath.
"I don't pity you" he repeated, his voice steady and unwavering. He could sense Ghost's avoidance, his ever-present desire to keep his emotions hidden. "I understand you." he continued, carefully taking a step forward. Ghost turned his head and he looked overwhelmed, stranded. "That means something, the fact that you trusted me enough to let me in" Ghost finally looked up, meeting Soap's gaze, and in that moment, the unspoken connection between them started to come into shape, materialize and manifest itself in a way neither of them could describe. “It hurts me when you are hurt. I am…” Soap hesitated. He wanted his message to be as clear as he could get it, however, he felt as if he was missing words. There was nothing that could describe his feelings at the moment, the intuition and instincts. So instead of stuttering in his pointless, limiting human expression, he quickly reduced the distance between them, once again closing Ghost in an embrace. He felt his ragged breath in his hair, on his ear, as the hug was returned, strong arms grabbing onto his shirt. They shared warmth, shared this moment and their space, their minds seemed to melt together. It was brave, it was bold and direct. Johnny felt Ghost take a deep breath, to the very bottom of his chest and with the exhale, the tension found its way out. It was not, however, the tension of this moment alone, but the tension built up inside of him for years, in every fiber of his muscle, in every tendon and bone, in his worn out and burdened joints.
“I don’t know who I am, Johnny.” Simon spoke up, slowly, weighing his words. He untangled himself out of the hug, setting his palms on Soap’s shoulders. Soap looked into his eyes and found relief. “But maybe you do,” Ghost said.
And took his mask off.