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Ghost noticed something during a mission, it was not the first time that he had seen Soap explote something, the carefully thought of the position of the explosives, the count down, just press a button and the whole thing went down.Again, it was not the first time he saw it, but the first time he had observed it. Soap, always a nervous impulse soldier, always saying jokes through communications, That same Soap that had to always be doing something with his hands, nervous hands, handling the bombs as he was taking care of a lover, he didn't say a word while he prepared them, never let anyone distract him for that exact thing.And that was a surprise surely, but Soap wasn't a demolitions expert just because he had a pretty face, nothing that Ghost would know of of course.The thing that shocked Ghost the most was when they were getting ready to destroy the building.Soap was smiling, like a kid waiting in the line for a rollercoaster.He didn't move much but looked at Ghost, waiting impatiently for the order. Just pressing a button, but looking at McTavish, it seems like he was waiting for someone to confirm he won the lottery ticket.Then the communication opened, and Price's voice sounded in their ears clear as day."We are safe boys, up to you,"Soap could have pressed the button at that moment, but he waited. He waited to Ghost to give the order.Usually, Ghost would just give him permission and look at the explosion, not now."Do your thing,Johnny"He didn't have time to think much, Soap had pressed the button, and that's when the true shock came.Sure, explosions where something that doesn't let anyone unbothered.But, Soap, Soap looked so happy, almost enchanted by the fire, the noise, the destruction. Something he had done, all that hard work gone withing seconds.And he looked..."Fuck" Ghost say in a breath, almost impossible to hear.Soap looked divine.And worse than that.The way Soap looked at the explosion, with devotion, hypnotized by it, with that wild smile all over his face, that made Ghost, no, that made Simon feel dizzy.The he looked more into Soap's eyes. Bright form the fire in front of him, the red of the explosion with the blue of his eyes made Simon feel like he could drown in those eyes and he would die happily.A stupid thought came to Ghost's mind, it made him feel a pressure in his chest.¿How would it feel like to be the receptor of that look?Surely it just was Ghost trauma, surely it had nothing to do with Johnny.Just Simon letting his walls fall, just for a second, just for brief moment he wanted to know how it was to be so beautiful that Johnny would look at him with such devotion. Just for a moment Simon Riley wanted to be part of that explosion, he wanted to burn so Johnny would look at him that way.When the noise ended he could hear Soap laugh.And that had to be enough for the moment.
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Ghost really tried to convince himself.The little twitch in his heart when no one else was allowed to call Soap Johnny? That was just the feeling of having a friend. The nervous press on his chest when Soap had to go on mission without him? Just a superior worried for his subordinate. Normal things.Of course, because he cared about his friend, he went to see him help the new recruits in the demolition camp. Because Soap was his friend, and because he was soft with the new guys. No other reason.Soap was talking to Jerry, getting things ready.Ghost let his body rest in the wall, ignoring the whispers arround him, his eyes focused on his sergeant, as he move in font on the recruits, noises stoping, just the voice of Soap.Johnny spoke of explosives with such passion, he detail all the little things.Ghost tried to focus on what Soap was saying, he really tried to focus, but the way the other one talked, how could any of the new guys understand anything if Soap was talking with that soft voice?He really tried to focus on the words that Johnny was saying and not on how he was saying it, it was hypnotizing, he could hear for hours, he could sleep to it, he could live with the scottish accent forever in his ear. He closed his eyes.He wondered again how it would be something that Soap liked so much that he could spend hours talking about it. The soft crack on his voice, the little laughs he let go when he said something he found interesting, and oh, how much would Ghost give to be that thing.Would Soap say his name with that soft voice? Could he fool the world to make Simon sound as pretty? Ghost feel drowning in the possibilities. If he would also describe his scars as something not to be afraid of, if he would tell him that his eyes were not like his fathers, if he would tell him similarities between Ghost and stars, and his mother. If he could make Ghost sound as someone who deserved to be loved.In one moment Soap voice stopped and a big noise replace it, right, bombs. Enough to put Simon out of his stupor.He looked at Soap.The sergeant went to him"Worried that I would gang soft oan th' new troops""You are soft"Soap punches playfully his superior arm.And if Ghost wished that he could be a C4 just to be the object of Soap monologue.
He didn't need to know.
No one needed to know.
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This was spiraling out of control.Of course, it was getting out of hand; Ghost was only human. As much as he enjoyed frightening new recruits with the idea that he was an undead legend, he really wasn't. His heart was just like any other human heart,it beat, and sometimes he felt like it was going to explode.“You are quite quiet, L.T.”And there it was, the reason for the constant fight between his heart and his brain.“I'm making sure you don't get your ass kicked in there, Johnny.”“Enjoying the view?”“Keep it tactical, soldier.”What Ghost really wanted to say was: "Fucking hell, Soap, you can't do this to me, I'M WEAK." But he didn't because he was a professional.His heart raced in his chest, and maybe not so long ago, Ghost would have stopped it, controlled it. Not now; he wanted it to explode. He wanted to let his heart go crazy and make an explosion as big that made Johnny would look at him with those doe eyes. Not that he could, but wishing was free. He could wish that Soap pushed all the right buttons to make Ghost another one of his artworks. A little part of his brain was extremely worried that he considered Soap’s explosions as artworks, but he was already down that hill, and if he had to go considering what was possible war crimes as works of art in the hands of John McTavish, so be it.“Good job, Sergeant,” Ghost said, somehow controlling his own voice as Soap shot two enemies without making a noise.“Good enough to deserve a prize?”“Maybe.”He could feel John smiling when he talked. “Taking me out to dinner, Simon?”“In your dreams, Soap.”The mission went smoothly, with stupid jokes here and there, maybe some flirting, none of those in the field manual. But being honest with himself, nothing of whatever messed up bond was between Soap and Ghost was in the field manual. Being even more honest, screw the field manual. What could the people who decided those rules know about how Ghost was feeling? He himself didn't even have any idea.When they met outside of the enemy base, Ghost couldn't help but smile. He would thank the mask for hiding it, but it would be stupid; Johnny could see right through him.“What has you so happy, sir?”“I told you you might deserve a prize.”“No, I said I deserve a prize, and you said, ‘maybe.’” Soap's attempt to copy Ghost’s deep voice was cute. Ghost let out a little laugh.“Well, be proud of yourself; you got that reward.” Before Soap could even try to form an intelligent response, Ghost got a detonator out of his pocket, and Soap's face lit up.“Simon, Whit hae ye dain?” Soap accent was stronger now“I mean, if you don't want it.” Ghost successfully hid how nervous he was.“Don't ye feckin' dare, Ghost.” Soap took the detonator out of Ghost's hands with a smile, that sidelong smile that haunted Ghost's dreams.He waited for the order, of course, good little soldier. Ghost gave a silent nod, and that was all he needed to push the button. There it was, brighter than the fire, occupying more space in Ghost's brain than the noise, John “Soap” fucking McTavish.All that Ghost would do for him, for that look to never leave Johnny’s face, blue eyes lighting, wild smile. He was screwed.There was no laughter this time, no thing Ghost could use to trick his brain.“Ghost... Simon.” Soap didn't look at him; his eyes were yet focused on the explosion. That was fine because Johnny was looking at something Ghost did for him. “Fuck, Simon. Thanks. Thank you very much.”“Anything for you, Johnny.” And, oh god, he meant it.
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Mission was a mess: blood, war crimes, betrayal. We're gonna die here, a kind of mess.Soap, Price, and Ghost were out of the building. The only one who wasn't there was Gaz.“Garrick, you copy?” Price spoke into the radio.“Solid, sir.” Maybe Ghost let out a sigh of relief; no one had to know. “Sir, there's a bomb.” Fucking jinx it.Something in Soap clicked, like someone just turned the switch and turned him into soldier mode. He was searching around him with an efficiency that Ghost could only compare to a machine.Price didn't seem surprised, worried, sure, there was a bomb, but surprised, no, not surprised.While Soap talked, somehow making his accent softer as he was trying to get the point across as cleanly as possible. “Gaz, I need you to describe all you can see in the bomb, you hear me?”“Are you sure about this, Soap?”“Sure.” Soap looked at Ghost. “No one fights alone.”He listened to him; in Las Almas, he listened to him. The ideas had been burned into his brain.Work with what you have, Soap took a stick and looked at the mud around him. He made a disappointing face. Ghost translated from Soap to English as: “We'll have to do the trick.”“I'm ready, Gaz. You trust me?”“You are saying it as if I have another option.”“Running would be acceptable,” Ghost tried to say.They all knew Gaz wouldn't do it, loyal as a dog; he wouldn't leave a job half done. Silence was as thick as Ghost didn't think any of his knives could cut it.A beat, two beats, Gaz’s voice through the radio, explaining what he was seeing, as much as he could. And there it was, Soap drawing in the mud, trying to capture an idea of what Gaz was seeing into the sticky improvised canvas.Ghost and Price protected the space they were in, they worked like a clock.He could hear Soap's voice in his ear explaining what cables to cut, what buttons to press, and then, a crack in his voice, a nervous crack. He didn't think Price heard it, highly doubted Gaz did, but he heard it.So Ghost moved towards Johnny. Soap was calming Gaz, but no one was calming Soap. He could do the job. He didn't want to touch Soap; it could distract him, could mess up the drawing, could ruin everything, and he couldn't smile either. That one he had to give to Johnny, the fucking mask.A thumbs up apparently did the job because Soap's stressed face softened. And he kept working. Then a loud-ass laugh on the radio.“Soap, you bloody pyromaniac genius! It worked, it fucking worked.”“Great news, Sergeant,” Price said. “Now get your ass out of there so we can get the hell out of here.”Soap cried in relief, well, the sound that Soap let go wasn't even a laugh or a scream; it was pure relief. Ghost found himself smiling; Soap was fine, Gaz was fine, Price was fine. His family was alive. Never believed he would say that again.When Gaz arrived, Soap practically jumped to hug him, Price laughed, and Ghost got closer to pat Gaz's shoulder.“Good job, Gaz.”“Fuck, Ghost, I was scared,” Gaz smiled.“Can tell. Let's get the hell out of here. I'm buying the drinks today.”And he did; they arrived at the base, got a very deserved shower and clean clothes, and met in the pub.They were all there. Ghost almost felt like an intruder, almost.“Simon, son, we are here.”“GHOST.” Okay, Gaz was drunk.“MY FAVORITE MASKED MAN.” And Soap was too.Ghost sat down, asked for a bourbon, and joined the conversation. It was easy, full of jokes, old and new stories, and, courtesy of the old man, a lot of gossip. Ghost could swear that man had eyes and ears everywhere, scary.“Anyways, how did you understand what bomb I was disabling?” “Saw a lot of them in SAS; could draw it with my eyes closed.” And to prove a point, he took a pen, a tiny piece of paper, and drew the exact same thing he drew in the mud.Ghost looked at the paper in a way a stranger could easily think he was trying to burn that thing. He knew Soap could draw; everyone knew Soap could draw. Pretty sure Gaz had some of his drawings in his barracks. But, a new thought came into his mind. Could Soap draw him?And there it was, the feeling again, burning his chest, wishing he was important enough so Soap could close his eyes and draw his mask, maybe one day even his face, his blond curls, maybe his broken nose, maybe all his scars.He looked at Soap's eyes, trying to calm him down. Big mistake, because now he was wondering what he saw when he looked at Ghost. Did Johnny recognize him just from a vague description in the middle of the chaos?God above, Ghost knew he would recognize Soap everywhere, like he recognized his own knife, like he knew the breeze in Kentucky. Ghost could recognize Soap if he was blind and Soap was mute.And all he wished in that moment, when everyone was alive, when all the people that truly mattered to him were happy and around him, was that he was as important to Johnny as Johnny was to him.The sudden understanding of his feelings hit him like a truck, and he was hit like a truck, so he knew how it felt, and it wasn't an exaggeration.He loved Johnny, and all he wanted, because after all, he was just a man, was to be loved back
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He felt he wanted to say he felt stupid, in love with the guy with blue eyes, a charismatic smile, and a weird accent. He might as well be a schoolgirl.But he didn't feel stupid; he wanted to feel wrong. This was wrong, but it didn't feel wrong. Nothing about it felt wrong. He felt at home when Soap laughed; he felt safe there, at Soap’s side. Price was next to them, giving orders toward communications.That felt right. As much as it hurt, Simon could live with these little laughs, friendly winks, and unbearable bad jokes. If the universe finally gave him something good, he was not going to ruin it because he was greedy.“Here Bravo 7-1, you need to get out of the building in ten minutes.”“I thought it was 5, Johnny.”“Giving them more time, L.T.”Of course, he was. Ghost shook his head with a smile no one could see, but it felt as warm as fire. Lately, everything was like fire—warm, hypnotizing, lethal. And Ghost was fine with it. He had fought for oxygen and was happy to give the oxygen he earned to something that made him like Johnny. He fought for this life, and like that, he had earned giving it to someone else, someone who deserved the world.Loving Johnny was like a fire, sometimes in a candle, easy to handle, small; he could blow it if he wanted to. He never wanted to. And sometimes it was like a forest fire, big, uncontrollable, destroying everything around him.Ten minutes went by; it was a simple mission, the sort of missions that working for 1-4-1 barely had. No direct threats. Gaz was happy with a license (a well-earned license after disabling a bomb he was not qualified to disable). Price was relaxed with his cigar. And Soap was attached to his hip.Sometimes, loving Johnny was like this mission, waiting for the inevitable explosion, doing a countdown in his head. Not moving, knowing that this time Ghost was allowing all of this, that if he wanted, he could stop it, and he didn't. Because Johnny’s fire made Ghost feel human again.Ghost was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost jumped in his place when the explosion he was waiting for came, Johnny looking at it.So lost in the look on the artist and his work that he didn't realize Price’s laugh until it was too late. He felt himself getting red from embarrassment. Price just laughed harder. Ghost knew that laugh—the laugh of “I just won a bet”—and that just made it worse.Johnny grabbed his arm and started shaking it. “The new bombs are beautiful. Fuck, how did you get them?”“Someone owes me a favor.”Soap was trying to get Ghost to say more about how he got his hands on those bombs back at the base. He was almost relieved when Price called him, almost.Walking toward his office, he was so ready to pull up all the excuses carefully rehearsed in his head. All the things that Ghost had come to terms with. He wasn't ready for Price to laugh again once they were alone.“Sir, please.”“I'm sorry; I just—is that why you went with me to the last meeting? To get those bombs?”“Just a secondary thought, sir.” And that was a half-truth.“Simon.” Price only said his name for two things: one, to calm him down, like when he revealed his face, or when he wanted to talk, not as his superior but as his friend. “Simon, why?”Simon felt his face turn red again. He could do it. Price wouldn't judge him. “Because… because it's something I can do for him. He deserves to be happy, and we both know I'm not a good man, but I can give him this.”“Fuck, Simon.”“I'm down bad,” he recognized, before a fear appeared in his head. “But I won't do anything else, sir, I promise. He is under my command; I won't…”“I honestly don't care, Simon.”Wait, what? His confusion should be big enough so that Price could see it.“I've known you even before you became Ghost, son. And I know Soap. You both deserve to be happy.”“Thank you, sir.”Ghost didn't talk about feelings. It wasn't sure if that really counted as “talking about feelings,” but it was enough. Enough to look at Price and know very well that Price knew his secret, that he could tell Price without being judged that he wanted to be better, that he was trying to show how much he could be for Soap.To be loved is to be changed, he heard once, and whatever person said that, they were right.
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"Everyone in the military has their unique quirks, if you want to be soft when calling it, or if you want to be realistic, you will call them weirdos.Ghost didn't like to be touched or show his face (duh). He had to name all his knives; his favorite was Bubbles. Only he knew why he called a knife 'Bubbles.'"It's a stupid name, L.T.""It reminds me of something I like.""Bubble baths?"Price had to count the enemies from right to left; he needed to smoke two times before, and God forbid someone sat down at his favorite spot in the pub. John tried to sit in that place once; he almost had to clean the showers for a month.Gaz had to tie triple knots and had four pairs of binoculars, each one for a different occasion. Unlike Ghost, he didn't name them, but he didn't allow anyone to get near his things.Soap, on the other side, never allowed anyone to be near him or talk to him while putting bombs. They needed time and his full focus. So, he thought that when he allowed Ghost to make a joke on a mission, he would notice the change. He thought that allowing Ghost to be around when he was teaching the rookies would be an obvious sign.It clearly wasn't. He had almost lost hope, then Ghost gave him not one, but two explosions just for him. He had listened to all the "gibberish" he said when asked about bombs; he listened to him carefully when he declared in that pub that there were new explosives out there and that he needed to see how they worked. He told Price some excuse about needing it to know how to deactivate them, but Ghost knew better; he just wanted to see something go boom.And he gave him that; he got those explosives for him.And oh, how Gaz liked to make fun of Soap for that.Gaz making fun of Soap for his, more than clear, crush on his superior was tolerable. Then the captain joined, and Soap was about to put a bullet in his own teammates.How did Soap get into this mess? Well, he knew how he had gotten himself into this pile of shit. Because a big man with pretty eyes and a husky voice called him 'Johnny,' and he was doomed.It was stupid. None of these made sense; Ghost had to know that Soap felt that way; he had to. Even Price knew, fucking hell, even Laswell knew. How could Ghost, THE GHOST, the man that had an escape plan in every occasion no matter what, the man that just entering a room told him that a random person he didn't know at all was cheating on poker, not have read the signs?It was so clear, for everyone else at least.And if Soap was a little less drowned in his own self-pity, he could see the signs too.Lost in his own thoughts, he had not even realized that Watcher-1 was calling him."I know it's a boring mission Mc.Tavish, but I need your focus.""Yes, ma'am, sorry," he excused himself. He was a man of action, and here he was waiting patiently for something to happen."I'm moving you with Bravo 7-0. Please, keep it tactical, at least as much as you can."He could keep it tactical; it just..."Hello, Johnny." Ah, fuck tactical. "You copy?""Missed me already, sir?""On your dreams, Sergeant." Honestly, Simon did so much more than missing Johnny in his dreams.Waiting for something to happen was easier if he had to look at Ghost. What a sight, killing people like it was a second nature, the way he moved that knife in his hands, was it Bubbles? Fuck, how he wished he could turn himself into a knife in that moment.The sound of a knife cutting skin, the way enemies died in an instant just enough to recognize his executioner but not enough to give the alarm.In a bittersweet taste, nothing happened; it was sad because, well, Soap was there in case something happened and nothing did, which means he had woken up so early in the morning for no actual reason, and it was such a delight because he got to see Ghost in action.Usually, it was both of them in action, so this feeling of getting to watch Ghost was a rare and cherished moment. With his sniper in position and not being allowed to move at all, watching Ghost was all he could, and honestly speaking, all he wanted to do.The mission ended successfully, and he met Ghost near the extraction point.Red in the mask, red in the gloves, some adrenaline still in his eyes, chest moving up and down with heavy breaths. Ghost was like a demon.Raised Catholic, Soap should know better than wanting to kneel to demons, and as a soldier, he should know better than wanting to get near a very dangerous lieutenant. He should know better.But he didn't.They were alone, a few kilometers away from the extraction point, and Soap couldn't stop looking."Stop looking at me with that look.""What look?""The look you gave to explosions or Matise paintings. Stop it, or else I may," Simon stopped himself."You may what?"Ghost closed his eyes, as he was trying to focus, as he was trying to calm down, Soap was not getting any of that."Tell me no, Johnny, tell me to stop." They were so close; Soap could smell the blood, could feel his own pulse raising."Please, Simon."Ghost must have removed the mask; Soap should have moved first. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe Soap put the removed the mask, and maybe Ghost moved first. That didn't matter.What was important is that they were kissing, that he was kissing Simon.When they broke the kiss, Soap let a soft laugh escape."Fucking finally."Ghost could agree on that, beacause Soap kissed him, and because he look at him the same way he did with explosions.