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    Summary

    He couldn't remember the last time touch meant love to him. It must've been some time when he was little, when his mother's hands were still tender and he looked less like his father. As he grew taller and bulkier, and his words grew defensive and harsh, she began to stare straight through him. The last gentle touch he'd ever taken without shivering beneath it was her thin fingers dragging over the bruises mottling his arms, never apologizing but always looking sorry.

    His body waited for Soap to grab, to pull, to dig his nails in just because he could — but he didn't. He roamed over Ghost's skin like it was fragile, never lingering on the remnants of a past he'd never spoken of. It was too much. Too Johnny. He wished his shoulders would stop trembling just for a moment so he could feel that sweetness without a lingering sense of dread in his bones.

    or: A new recruit triggers a flashback by pinning Ghost down during a sparring match and ignoring his tap out. Panicked, Ghost dislocates his own shoulder to free himself, and Soap has to pick up the pieces while Ghost confronts feelings from his past he thought he'd buried.

    Language:
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