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Simon Riley, the brooding Lieutenant of Task Force 141, prided himself in being one that his mates could lean on when they needed. He had never thought he’d be the one asking for help, even when he woke drenched in sweat from nightmares at ungodly hours of the night.
But this time it hit hard. Tears bubbled at his eyes, blurring his vision as he slipped on a lazy pair of shorts and hurried to Soap’s barracks. Rain pattered against the windows, the quiet pitter-patter only being broken by the occasional rumble of thunder. Ghost’s low footsteps could be heard as he walked down the hallway, pausing at the door to Soap’s barracks. With a shaking hand, he raised his fist and knocked. It was 2:30 in the morning, but his entire body shook and his head throbbed with voices telling him to give in.
A low voice came from behind the door, a soft call. “Hello..?” Soap called quietly, voice rough with sleep. Simon shifted in his spot, staring at the floor. “Johnny.” He spoke softly, hoping his tone was enough for the man to get up so he didn’t have to stand out in the hallway. There was a small grunt before the door clicked open, opening enough for Soap to see Simon’s exhausted face, eyes hollow. “Simon? Come in mate, bloody hell. It’s 3 ‘n the morning.” Ghost pushed past him, pausing in the middle of the room and taking a moment to think.
“Do you think I’m a monster, too, Sergeant? Be honest with me.” His voice barely trembled, but Soap still heard it.
“I—no, Ah’d never think that about you, Lieutenant..”
A low sob came from the man standing before him. His shoulders shook, hands raising to try and rub away the tears. Don’t let anyone see the vulnerability under the mask.
He turned, eyes meeting Soap’s. John took in the scene, breathing, and opening his arms. “Come here, Simon.” Ghost paused. He knew he needed a hug. Hell, he’d needed one for years. He just didn’t know how to ask. And now the opportunity sat before him, with the sunshine that was Soap beckoning him forward. He took a shaky breath, and the man practically fell into his Sergeant’s arms. His body shook with the force that was his sobs, his chest aching. His rambles and cries were met with soft shushes and a tighter squeeze from Soap. He hadn’t let himself cry in years, especially not in front of another being. He was supposed to be the fierce, emotionless Ghost. The man who didn’t feel. The man who could withstand anything.
But here he was, breaking down in Soap’s arms. Gasping for breaths, crying and trying to explain what was hurting and where.
Voices echoed in his head, taunting and shouting. Soap’s hand rubbed steadily on his back, squeezing tight every time Simon’s broken voice pleaded for “pressure” between sobs. He was probably soaking his shirt with tears, but Soap didn’t seem to mind.
“Johnny..” Ghost could barely catch a breath. Soap guided them to sit down on the bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“I’m here, Simon. I’m here. I’m not leaving you, I promise.” He muttered, letting him cry it out. Soap could tell this had been building up for a while, and even the smallest things can send it all tumbling down. His cries faded to quiet hiccups, Ghost leaning fully on the support of his Sergeant.
"It's too much, Johnny. I can't do this anymore." His voice cracked, and Soap's brows furrowed.
"Talk to me, Simon." John whispered in the silence of the night. "Ah'm right here, yeah? Right here."
Simon gave a quiet sniffle, shifting to get more comfortable. Soap guided his head to rest comfortably on his chest, Simon shutting his eyes as he listened to John's heartbeat.
It was soothing, in a way, to be reminded that John was right here. That the horrors he saw in his dreams weren't true.
"I'm right here." Soap repeated, his head resting against Ghost's.
Simon could start crying right there and now. Soap was holding *him*. He was taking time to comfort *him*. That maybe, just maybe, he saw past the quiet, brooding man. That maybe he didn't care if his hands were bloodstained. That there's a chance that Soap loves him for him.
If he even loved him.
Simon had admired John for months. His eyes, the crinkle around them when he'd grin. His dimple, only on the right side. The soft, manicured texture of his hair. His face. His ass. His hands, so comforting and soft compared to his rugged and calloused ones.
But the thing that enraptured him the most was his personality. His heart.
The way he'd stay back for Ghost when everyone else had already left.
The look he'd get, almost proud, when Simon won awards. It was the way he could be so gentle and loving, even in a place like this.
And he wanted it all for himself.
He wanted John to wake him up in the mornings with kisses to the face, to stay in bed late making sweet, sweet love.
To sneak into his barracks past curfew, to share moments with him nobody else got to experience.
The amount of times Ghost had zoned out during meetings was unreal.
The ways he thought about holding Soap late at night.
Times he thought about pulling him into a janitor's closet and kissing him senseless.
Wondering how he'd look bare and flushed, giving him a smile only Simon could pull from him.
But it was only wishful thinking, wasn't it?
Soap continued to draw soft circles on his back, his breaths quiet in the silence of the room. Simon sniffled occasionally, his mind racing and his eyes fighting to stay open. He didn't want this moment to end, but his mind was screaming at him to sleep. To shut his eyes and rest his body on Soap's chest.
The rain picked up outside, the ambience almost putting Ghost to sleep. As his eyes fluttered, he grabbed Soap's shirt and whispered.
"I love you, John." He whispered in a rough voice, eyes fluttering shut.
Soap was taken aback, but stroked his hand over Simon's hair and pressed a kiss there.
"I love you too, Simon. Through thick and thin."