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Summary
“It’s food.” He says simply.
“Food?” Ghost questions.
“Can’t keep it down.” Soap mumbles as he lights another cigarette.
Ghost, seemingly deliberating, hums before speaking.
Careful to not be accusing, “why?”
“That’s a loaded question...” Soap trails off.
Ghost patiently waits for him to continue. Soap swallows thickly.
“Guess I’m just... grasping for control. Can’t control my fuckin life, but I can control my weight, can control what I digest.” His voice is shaky, and he’s carefully avoiding eye contact.
