Fluff And Theft

Why. Why must you do this to me?

no but I've been thinking about Soap with temporary Prosopagnosia (face blindness) after his injury

---

Price had put Soap on medical leave after he got out of the hospital, his only responsibility being rest and recovery. Of course Ghost took time off to be with him as well. He didn't even need to ask either, Price just did the paperwork for the both of them at the same time.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes Soap had trouble remembering words or doing delicate tasks with his fingers. Ghost always waited patiently for him to work it out, only helping when Soap asked him too.

For the past hour, Soap had been lying in their bed, his lighthearted laughs filing their flat as he watched something on his phone. Ghost was sitting in the other room and reading a file Price had sent over, informing him on their continued investigation to find Makarov.

Ghost heard a particularly loud laugh before the box spring squeaked lightly, the sounds of Soap shuffling off the bed following soon after. He heard footsteps begin to approach him and he glanced over.

"Ghost!" Soap said cheerfully as he looked down at his phone. "You have to see this funny cat vid-"

Soap abruptly stopped speaking as he looked up, the words getting caught in his throat. The wide smile that always spread across his face with enough brightness to light up Ghost's entire world suddenly fell, swiping down in one smooth motion. His eyes widened slightly, almost as if in shock, and his mouth dropped open a sliver. His eyes locked onto Ghost's face, but there was no warmth to be found.

It was fear.

"Who are you?" Soap choked out, taking an apprehensive step backwards.

Ghost was immediately on his feet, the look on Soap's face shattering his heart. He raised his hands out in front of himself and curled his shoulders in, trying to make himself look less intimating.

"Johnny... it's me..." Ghost said slowly, the words coming out calmly despite the rising worry in his chest. "It's Simon."

Soap tilted his head as a deep furrow scrunched up his brow. His eyes jumped back and forth across Ghost's face, refusing to focus on one thing.

"What..." he let slip from his lips, breathless and confused. "I... I don't..." He squinted slightly. "...Simon?"

"Yeah, it's me," he said quietly, taking a careful step forward. Thankfully, Soap stayed where he was and he let Ghost approach him, although he still looked unsure, small.

Ghost gently took Soap's hand and placed it up against his face. At the same time, he wrapped his arm around Soap's waist and pulled them closer together. Once their bodies were pressed up against one another, Soap let out a shuddering sigh and he dug his face into Ghost's neck.

"I..." Soap started hesitantly, holding Ghost back tightly. "I don't recognize you..."

His usual confidence was gone, the words coming out weakly, almost broken in shame.

"But you recognize my voice?" he asked.

Soap nodded in silence.

"Okay..." Ghost said quietly, letting his fingers trace up and down Soap's spine. "Just close your eyes then. Listen to me speak."

Soap closed his eyes.

"I got you," Ghost murmured soothingly. He wanted nothing more than for his imperfect words to reach Soap and rid him of his fears. He wanted Soap to feel safe. "It's me. Just listen to my voice, love. Everything's going to be okay. I won't let go. I love you, Johnny."

tw: simon's mean and a sexist.

Simon who doesn't like you. He respects Laswell, who's intel is vital to their missions. Price as the leader of the Task Force. Gaz because he's proved his mettle time and time again, and Soap whose stubborn self has burrowed under Simon's thick, knotted flesh.

Not you, though.

You've yet to do anything substantial.

As a sniper, your job is to aim and kill; provide overwatch. Why Johnny insists on giving you praise for doing what is required of you is beyond him.

You aren't taken to below-zero temperatures as emotional support. Why you're taken at all is also another mystery.

Without your gun, you're utterly useless. And Simon proves it, time and time again during training spars at base.

He comes at you as if you're the enemy, with dangerous precision and quick movements. Simon gets enjoyment out of seeing your eyes widen when he moves, like an injured gazelle who's just spotted a ravenous lion.

His grip is bruising— the force that he slams you to the ground with devastating.

Simon can hear the air punched out of your lungs once your back hits the mat, and the time it takes for your vision to sharpen, he's already pinning you down viciously with a knee to the sternum.

Useless. Women don't belong in combat. He's seen that big brute from KorTac. He'd crush your pathetic little head under his palm, he'd kick your ribs hard enough to crack and the splintered ends pierce your lungs.

He'd kill you without a hint of effort.

And Simon intends to remind you that there is no place for weak, bitty things like you in the front lines. Unless you're to be used as a distraction by flashing your tits at the bad guys.

Out of place.

Every time you go up against him, he uses his size and strength against you, just like every other person will. He launches you across the floor with a single arm, only to watch you struggle to get up and continue this sham of a fight.

Confidence born of ignorance.

As if sheer will would ever beat physical prowess.

If your feet won't touch the ground, then the rest of your body will. Through spilled blood and bruised flesh, may you learn.

He whistles at Johnny, gesturing at him to take his place, only for the end result to be the same, albeit much more gently.

Simon watches you through half-lidded eyes as he leans up against the wall. You fight against inevitability.

Pathetic.

And then one day, you come at him with a snarl on your lips. Blunt teeth that have never had to sink into someone's neck and rip a throat out, out of utter desperation. An unblemished face that's never felt the sting of a sharp blade as it's sliced open contorted into 'rage.' Frothing at the mouth like a lap dog with rabies, barking out words that are as empty as your future.

A forceful wave of his hand abruptly halts you mid-sentence, causing you to involuntarily flinch in response. Good.

"If ya have a complaint, take it to Price. I am not obligated to humor your stupidity."

He spins on the balls of his feet, leaving you to sputter indignantly.

Then on a mission, you get shot. Simon grabs the handgun that's holstered on his chest, and places it in your bloodied hands. "Keep them off of us, or we're both dead!"

His fingers are curled around the thick strap of your tac vest as he drags you toward the LZ; his pace never faltering even while getting clipped by stray bullets. But you?

He'd think you got your legs cut off. Wailing like a cat in heat over a wound above your hip. A clean in and out, nothing vital hit.

Simon has seen Gaz fall out of a helicopter, dangle from a rope, and still use his gun. He's seen Johnny cross a town full of Graves' Shadows bleeding from his shoulder, armed with nothing but the makeshift weapons he crafted on the way to the church. Price inhaled toxic gas and made it out just fine. Even Laswell was taken hostage and didn't crack under the pressure, going as far as killing her captor with her bare hands.

And you're decomposing in front of his very eyes over a superficial wound.

Landing at base, he walks out without a glance back and heads straight for Price's office. He didn't join the 141 to babysit anyone, least of all someone who belongs in either intelligence or a kitchen.

Sleepless

Ghost never sleeps. At least nobody ever saw him do it. On missions, he'd always take the night watch, the most he did was close his eyes and snooze a bit, immediately waking up if anything happened. When he slept on base, his room was always locked, and he obviously had the room farthest from the rest. Peaks of being a lieutenant. But now here you were, in a safehouse in the middle of nowhere, crammed together in the tight space. Ghost was not pleased, to put it mildly. He didn't show it, but you could see it in the way his jaw clenched under his mask and his voice got even more gruff.

"Y' go to sleep. I'll take the watch", he ordered, sitting down heavily on a chair. "With all due respect, sir, you look like shit. You should sleep a wee bit too", you remarked, looking him up and down. Even with the mask he couldn't hide his tired and droopy eyes. "Watch your mouth, sergeant", he gruffed. You smiled and raised your hands "Just being honest, Lt" An annoyed and tired sigh escaped him. "Go to sleep. Don't make me force ya"

You giggled, but relented. Taking off the heavy vest and settling down on the floor. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep, the exhaustion from todays work kicking in.

A loud bang ripped you from your peaceful slumber. You shot up, alarmed, gun at the ready. After a few seconds another bang. Worry set in. Was Ghost in trouble? Had you been discovered?

Quickly you got up, clearing the house. Nothing and no one was there. Until you got to the entrance, where Ghost was set for night guard. You didn't see him immediately, which by his size was hardly possible. He was leaning against a wall, facing the door. As soon as you saw him, you froze. That wasn't Ghost. That wasn't the deadly, tough and cold man you knew. He was scared. Hunched in on himself, arms wrapped around himself, knees pulled up to his chest. He was trembling.

You didn't know what to do, so you just stood there. He shook and trembled like a scared puppy. It hurt to watch him like this. "Ghost?", you asked, carefully. He began muttering under his breath. "No no no no, don't touch me, don't fucking touch me!", his chest began heaving with effort, his fists clenching the fabric of his uniform. You took a step closer to him. "Stop, please stop, it hurts, please!", pleas kept falling from his lips.

Should you wake him up? It didn't seem like a good idea, but he kept banging his head against the wall, which you were sure was too loud for your both sakes.

So you placed a gentle hand on his hand, shaking him slightly. "Ghost? You gotta wake up", his eyes shot open in an instant, they went from fear to rage in a split second. He growled lowly, leaping forward and pinning you on the ground under him, his giant, gloved hand around your throat.

His eyes bore holes into you, but they didn't seem focused. He seemed to be still somewhere else. "Ghost!", you called out, trying to get him to let go of you. No reaction. "Lieutenant!" Still nothing. It became hard to breathe. "Simon, please!" His gaze went sharp, focusing on your eyes.

"Fuck, shit", he cursed, immediately letting go of you. He sat next to you, looking worried. "I-I'm so sorry", he whispered. You could see remorse in his eyes.

"Everything is fine, Ghost, I'm fine", you assured him, despite a blue ring forming around your neck. "No, it's not, I hurt you", his hands reached out to you, without touching you.

"Is that why you never sleep with us (get your mind out of the gutter)?",you asked. He nodded. "I don- I can't. The next time I maybe wake up when it's too late."

You sighed, pulling him to his feet. He looked lost.

"Then I stay awake with you"

If you're still up for some drabble ideas, I was thinking of Horangi falling in love with his neighbor's foreign bestie (reader). He just got back from an assignment, and he meets a foreigner at his apartment back in South Korea. He's smitten the moment he talks to them and is elated that they're staying at his neighbor's place for their time there.

If it's too wild of an idea or if it's not your type of style, then you could just ignore this.

A nice leave

Note: Hey there, anon! First off, thank you for being my first ever request. And sorry it took so long, I honestly just didn't know where to start with this one. I'm only going to make it a short drabble to see how ya'll like it, should you do, I'll write more : ) Also, I don't speak Korean, so I had to use google translate, sorry if it's cringe to read. Word count: 289 Trope: Fluff, gender neutral reader

The mission was a full success. Everything went smoothly, and Horangi got away with only some small bruises and cuts. He was placed on leave for two weeks, and went back to his apartment in South Korea to relax a bit. He could hear his bed call him when he stood in the lift of his apartment building, the duffel bag over his shoulder heavy. When he stepped out, he saw you. Standing in front of the door next to his, big smile on your face. He looked twice. You were beautiful. "안녕하세요. 제가 도와드릴까요 (Hey there, can I help you?"). "What?", you turned around, smile still there, albeit slightly confused "Sorry, I don't speak Korean". "Ah, ok. Can I help you?", he asked again, this time in English. "Oh, I'm just waiting for my friend, but I think they're asleep", you chuckled. A grin spread on his tired face. You had a nice smile. "Are you going to stay longer?", he had a slight hope in his voice. You nodded happily. "Yup! Two weeks, to be exact" It made a warmth flow through him, even though he tried to suppress it. He thought about saying something, maybe invite you over for a drink or something. But before he could, the door opened and your friend, very sleepy and ruffled hair, appeared in the doorway. "Sorry", they mumbled. "Oh, no problem (friends name)". You grinned at Horangi, and the familiar flutter came back. "I'm (name), by the way" you extended your hand. "I'm Kim", he shook your hand, but you dissapeared in your friends room before he could say anything.

He was definetely going to sleep well.

Helloooo, here’s a new sketch and this time young Sirius Black from Harry Potter / Marauders! Hope you like it :)

Here’s the template I used

At my fire department, most of us have nick makes

We got Jost, which is a normal name, but the problem was that during the first few weeks nobody knew his real name, so they just called him Jost

Then we got tree, which is a 6'5 guy, pretty self explanatory

Then we got glow stick, because that dipshit once asked our chief if we could carry glow sticks to house fires so we could see in the smoke. No. We can't.

Next is dinosaur, cuz his first name is Joshua, like the dino Joshi from the video game

And we got onion, because no one could pronounce his Romanian name properly and he loves onions

My lovely nick name is tits, since I was the only girl in the squad

Alive / Part VIII

Word count: 666

Ghost was used to not being able to sleep at night, nightmares and night terrors keeping him awake. But tonight was different. He and Soap settled down on the bed next to each other, laying in comfortable silence. He could feel the heat radiating off Soaps body. Every fiber in him wanted to scoot closer to him, curl up in his side, which he of course didn’t do. Soap was his sergeant, after all, and he didn’t want to give himself the embarrassment of making a move only for Soap not to feel the same. (Ghost is an oblivious idiot).

Ghost hated the feeling of fabric on his skin at night, at base he usually slept only in boxers, today opting for joggers, but no shirt. He wiggled on the bed, trying to get comfortable. „No disrespect, lt, but stop squirming around like a worm“, Soap grumbled, already half asleep. Ghost didn’t say anything, laying down on the side facing Soap, who was facing towards the window.

It took while for him to fall asleep, but for the first time in a long while he slept through the night, no nightmares violently ripping him out of sleep. He woke up to the sound of birds chirping, slowly opening his eyes to see Soaps side empty. He was still sleepy, taking a few sips of water form the nightstand before rolling onto his back with his arms under his head, staring at the ceiling.

The door opened, and Soap stepped back into the room, dressed in boxer shorts and an oversized shirt. He sat down on the bed next to Ghost. „Morning, lt“. Ghost closed his eyes. „Morning, Johnny“. A few moments of silence passed, before he felt a warm hand on his side. His breath hitched and he opened his eyes. Soaps gaze was focused on the skin beneath his fingers, fingertips slightly grazing over a big scar, caressing the raised, silver skin. It burned, but oh God, did it burn good.

„How’d you get this?“, Soap asked, genuine curiosity on his face. Memories flashed in front of Ghosts eyes and he gulped. „Uh, I got captured. Cartel. They hung me up on a hook“, he mumbled. „Must’ve hurt a bitch“ Soap gently rubbed his thumb over the scar. Ghost nodded, closing his eyes again, the memory painful. He didn’t want to admit it, but Soaps touch on his scars felt holy.

„Do they hurt?“, Soap asked. Ghost shrugged. „Sometimes. Not all of them. They feel weird when it‘s cold though. And they’re really sensitive“ Soap grinned, continuing to gently caress the scar.

It stopped for a second, before Soaps fingers grazed the skin right above his waistband. Shivers ran over his body as Soap caressed a faint but long scar that went from his side over his v lin down to his crotch.

„And here?“, he asked, his voice low. Ghost took a moment to answer, his thoughts in a haze. „Torture…. They wanted intel“, he smiled weakly. „They didn’t get it“. Soaps gaze was sad. „I‘m so sorry, Si“, he whispered. Before he could say anything, Soap bent down, pressing his lips on the scar. Ghosts mind went blank.

Soaps lips lingered on the scar, before he slowly, very slowly began to tug the waistband down, revealing a small happy trail. He kissed lower and lower, stopping every few seconds to check in with Ghost, who was looking at him with wide eyes, but the bulge in his pants said enough.

Soap grinned before pulling down his joggers completely, his plans obvious. Ghost stared at him, his mind racing. Was this really happening? He felt like he was on fire. Soap liked him too. This was wrong, so wrong. But fuck did it feel good. It had been ages since someone last touched him like this, at least with consent. He had to hold back a whimper when his fingers grazed over the bulge.

A loud voice suddenly boomed through the house. „Boys! Breakfast!“

HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!

thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)

part one / part two / part three / part 3.5 (drabble)

simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.

he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.

he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.

but he couldn’t take everything lying down.

did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?

he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.

he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.

he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.

but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.

but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.

simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.

and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?

you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.

the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.

and all the signs pointed to you.

and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.

price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.

johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.

then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.

simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.

maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.

but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.

all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.

and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.

so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.

and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.

even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.

he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.

but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.

the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.

it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.

the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.

“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.

“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”

simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.

“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”

“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”

price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.

“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”

“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.

price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”

the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.

he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.

“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.

price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”

simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.

“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”

they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.

pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.

although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.

but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.

an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.

you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.

damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.

you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.

he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.

‘you should have killed me.’

maybe he should have.

thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—

im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!

as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)

You always wondered how König was when he was back at base and being colonel. You wished you had some type of secret superpower and could teleport to see if what Hutch or Stiletto said was true. You had asked him one time, and he didn't even answer the question. Well, he sort of did. Blaming the recruits for causing him to be mean and making them run long miles.

"You don't get it, liebe. They're all morons, and they think they can fool around all the time. So I, as a colonel, do my job and make them suffer the consequences." 

You learned your lesson to not ask ever again on a sunny friday morning when you got a little taste. You had decided to join him on a run and at first you were all giddy and confident. How bad could it be? The weather was perfect and working those 12 hour shifts had prepared you.

Yeah, you were wrong.

You were practically on your knees, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. It felt like each breath you took was getting worse. Your giant husband just stood there. There was some sweat on his forehead, but he didn't look like he was struggling. 

The man had the nerve to scoff.

"C'mon soldier. You wouldn't survive a day in the field with just." König checks his watch. "Only ten minutes of running."

You look up and glare at him. "I-I can't catch up to you! You're taller!"

"My height has nothing to do with your running capabilites." König says.

"You're running faster! You have experience." You shout, very annoyed.

He shakes his head. You can see a grin forming on his face even when he's wearing that damn hood. "Nein. Just excuses. Even a rookie could do better."

How dare he.

"You know what! I may not be able to beat you, Mr. Colonel, but I know dang well you couldn't clear a screen during a rush in minutes." You spat back, the bottle in your hand falling to the floor.

"Quit your babbling rookie and get to running."

Oh and you indeed showed him. Even when your lungs were burning and you almost twisted your ankle, you made it before him. Soon as you got to the top of the goal, you did your little dance and mocked him the way he was first.

"Guess what? This little rookie just beat your ass colonel." You say, your finger poking his chest. Almost getting distracted by the way the black shirt was sticking to his skin.

"Is that how you talk to your superior?"

You nod. "You best believe it."

And with that you own yourself a piggyback ride home by your mean husband( he literally let you win but won't admit it because he loves your competive side).

König just loves you ❣️

Alive / Part lll

Word count: 486

The next few weeks went by agonisingly slow. While the others were training, Soap had to stay in bed. Even if he were allowed to get out, he couldn't. The damage done to his brain impacted his balance, coordination and speech. He already dreaded the months, maybe even years of physical therapy needed.

The only good thing in this whole shit show was Ghost. He came every day around 1700 (5pm for the Americans). Soap tried to hide his excitement when he heard the heavy footsteps approach his door, but it worked poorly. He told himself it was just because he was glad about any distraction, even though his heart didn't beat so fast that the machine started beeping every time Gaz or Price came over.

The conversations with Ghost were nice. Other than the first time when he woke up, the lieutenant wasn't weirdly nervous. Since Soap didn't have much to tell other than that his nurse painted her nails blue, Ghost was usually the one to talk. He told him about training, mostly. How Gaz managed to land face first while fast roping, or how Price was heard screeching like an eagle when a mouse wormed its way into his rucksack. (He still denies it, claiming it was a bird). They talked about the most mundane and sometimes, quite frankly, most boring things. How yesterday in chow hall, they had chilli con carne but without chilli and without carne. But Soap is thankful for every minute he gets to spend with Ghost. Even if they run out of things to talk about, it is a comfortable silence. Ghost brings Soap books, and since his eyes and head start hurting after a while, he reads them to him. If only Soap could focus on the actual story and not how Ghosts lips move behind the mask, how his deep voice grows calm and soothing. He wished he could raise his hand and cup Ghosts jaw, gently tracing his bottom lip.

"Johnny? Y' listening?", Ghosts eyes looked up at him, deep brown, like the leaves on a chestnut tree in autumn. He was getting distracted again. "Er, ya, m' 'ere, lt", he stuttered. Ghost sighed. "Y' should sleep a bit." He looked at his watch. "''t's 1900 already (7pm). Don't wanna strain that fragile lil head 'f yours.", he grinned under the mask. Soap rolled his eyes playfully. "Ugh, fuck you, Ghost" "Later." He got up and placed the book (Ballad of songbirds and snakes) on the nightstand. "Y' need anything else?". Those damn eyes looked at him again. Soap wished he could live in them. "M' fine. See you 'morrow?" Ghost nodded, winking before closing the door behind him.

Soap sank back in the pillows with a groan. "Bithidh an bastard sin 'n a bhàs dhomh-sa". (That bastard is gonna be the death of me)

He couldn't wait to wait to see him again tomorrow.