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Summary
Fuck, Ghost can’t do this- can’t handle that choking fondness settling like a stone over his chest and bleeding through his veins like poison. Suddenly, he can’t handle the sight of Johnny on his bed, entirely aware of and unbothered by the knife under the pillow half a foot from his head- and the weapon of a man next to him- maybe even feels safer because of it, because of him-
Even worse, his face is bare. Johnny can see his face- can see him- and he might be sketching him in that journal of his, and Simon knows it’s not the first drawing of him in that little book he takes everywhere with him.
It’s too much- too familiar and too fond and too many things Simon Riley isn’t-
He just needs him to-
“Leave.”
or
Ghost experiences a soft moment with Soap and gets overwhelmed by the domesticity