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Since he was a little boy, Soap had dreamed of that one person who’d love him how he was. But he also had learned since he was small that he was annoying.
He didn’t try to be that - he rather tried not to be it. But it was not something which was easy, when he couldn’t grasp what it exactly was that made him annoying.
He knew that he was too loud sometimes. He also knew that he always needed to do something with his hands, or that his constant hobbling on his feet made others roll their eyes. He tried to sit still, tried to be quiet, tried to be good, but his thoughts travelled elsewhere whenever he tried, and in the end, he got scolded for not paying attention instead of being a nuisance.
His parents got angry with him easily, and usually he was cast out of the house whenever they had the desire for him ‘getting off his steam’. His sister easily picked up on him whenever his parents were angry with him, and so Soap quickly learned to play outside on his own.
Making friends was easy for him, but he never made a special friend. No one wanted to keep him around forever and that was something which he just couldn’t put up with.
He was good for having fun. This was something which Soap learned as an older teenager and later as a young adult again, especially among the ranks of the other recruits and within the army.
Men took an interest in him quite often, and it was easy for Soap to get attention if he wanted. Sometimes he even got attention when he didn’t want it, but he couldn’t change his reputation after it was ruined.
He would never achieve someone would only look at him. With that – by now – Soap had put up with.
Undivided attention, someone who looked up when he entered a room, someone who was glad when he was there - someone who wanted him. Always.
He had accepted that fate, kind of. Expected it, really.
He was part of more than one team, and whenever he was given another position, it was alright to him that his squad mates didn’t really seem to be bothered. There were friendly mates, friends and brothers, but none who would miss him for real.
Not the way he wanted to.
Not until the 141.
The 141 was everything he ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed of. Kind and protective, that family he always searched for in the army, that warmth he searched for in the arms of men which wouldn’t even remember his name.
And damn - Soap fell easily for attractive men.
And for Ghost he fell fast and painful.
His refusal, his rejection he expected every day, but it never came. Not really.
While Ghost was openly distant, he wasn’t pushing him away. And after Mexico, Soap had fallen harder – he started to hope.
So hard that he was scared of rejection. So hard that it fucking ripped the heart out of his chest when it finally came.
“I think that’s enough Soap for one day.”
Soap didn’t think that the others realized that his heart had just stopped working.
A chest, a wit, murmured into a glass of half-drunk Whiskey by Ghost, a chuckling Gaz nearby who gave Ghost a pat on the shoulder. Price huffed before taking a sip from his beer, and Soap remained quiet, his body numb, his head foggy, his heart still.
“He’s your Lieutenant. That contract’s unreturnable.”
Price crooked a smile at Ghost, who let out a heavy breath. Gaz took a sip from his bottle, chuckling over it. “Should have read the fine print, Ghost.”
Ghost shrugged. “Next time I’ll do.”
It all happened not even within a minute, and Soap’s body reacted faster than his mind. Listening to himself laugh with the rest, the moment passed, and he doubted someone noticed the crushed heart to his feet.
But he wondered.
When was the moment Ghost had enough of him? What was the reason he grew tired of him? Was it a single reason or a combination of many reasons?
Could he change something?
He thought of everything and nothing, overthinking too much until his head hurt and his eyes were red with crying, later when he was alone in his bed. Calling in sick due to a headache the very next day just left him back with teases by Gaz that Soap couldn’t hold his beer, and when he tried distracting himself with running more and more rounds around the base, Price just asked him if he didn’t have anything better to do.
So, Soap kept himself busy.
Cleaning all the weapons, training the recruits, writing reports and reading some which were overdue, cleaning his room and working out in the gym whenever possible.
“I think that’s enough Soap for one day.”
He tried avoiding Ghost.
Not directly enough to make it obvious, but enough to give the other man room.
He didn’t ask for sparring sessions anymore, he didn’t ask him to train him sniping… He did what was necessary, sat with the others for lunch and otherwise let them be.
He didn’t want to leave the 141. He didn’t want to be taken from Ghost. He didn’t want Ghost to be taken from him.
If distance was what they needed, he would give it, if it meant he could stay with them.
Breakfast he replaced with a jog, at lunch he joined the others, smiling through the banter while concentrating to not dominate the conversation. He would spend the afternoon in the gym long enough so that he had to hit the shower afterwards, missing dinner time with the team.
It went well for a few days. It wasn’t working for the first mission.
Soap was unconcentrated, unfocused and he fucked it up.
He couldn’t keep his legs still and listen, he couldn’t shut his mouth all the time and concentrate on what Price was saying, even if he tried.
Trying was not enough. Never enough.
That the mission went sideways was entirely his fault. He should have known there were hostiles, but he hadn’t listened, and that Soap got injured, that Gaz got shot – no one could be blamed but him.
They were angry, which was understandable.
And Soap became quiet.
In the helicopter on the way back, in the hospital when Gaz got his arm fixed, and during the days after.
He still joined lunch, but talked even less. He kept himself even busier to avoid further private contact. When he declined the second night out for a bar, Price called him to his office.
“I don’t have to tell you that I need you solid, Sergeant.”
Soap swallowed, trying to avert direct eye-contact. Price’s steel blue eyes could look like through him, and Soap shuddered under their intensity.
“What’s wrong with you lately, lad?”
Price didn’t scold. He sounded genuinely worried and somehow that made it worse.
Because Soap didn’t annoy him, he disappointed him.
“I fucked up the last mission.”
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the complete truth either. Yet it was enough to satisfy Price, to make his captain squeeze his shoulder and give him a brief smile.
“Missions are like that sometimes. We’re humans. We make mistakes. Shake it off, Sergeant.”
Soap nodded, but with that, the pressure just grew.
During the next mission they had, he was a fucking misery.
Price seemed to have said something to the others, because Gaz had stopped making jokes about the bullet in his arm, and Ghost helped him check his equipment without any need for it.
They were quiet when Soap needed to be quiet, and he didn’t want them to be different. He wanted himself to be different.
“Ghost, Soap, you’ll take overwatch. Gaz, we’ll go in.”
Sniping. It was his speciality, but usually it was Ghost’s job. Since he was assigned to be Ghost’s Sergeant, it was always Soap going into the field and Ghost watching him, and today, he was just… left over.
Biting his own tongue to keep himself quiet, he needed all of his concentration to sit still while Ghost had his eyes focused on the mission, while Price and Gaz were busy fulfilling the goddamn job.
Soap was meant to keep Ghost’s back free. A laughable job, something which you placed a completely useless rookie to.
Ghost didn’t need him. He never had someone watching his back when he was sniping on the roof, because Ghost was Ghost – the legend. Ghost didn’t need no one.
“I wanna be like you when I grow up.”
“You wanna be better than me, Johnny…”
Perhaps Price had assigned him there, so that he didn’t feel left out. Perhaps he had assigned him here, so that Soap couldn’t fuck this up again, couldn’t cause another trouble. Perhaps he should watch and learn. Perhaps it was a lesson in staying quiet.
For Soap, this was the hardest mission of them all.
Sitting quietly next to Ghost, not able to speak, to move, do anything really, or he’d disturb his concentration. Just that now all his concentration was running in staying still, while Ghost communicated with Price on the radio.
Soap didn’t hear them approaching.
Didn’t hear the steps, nor the leaves rustling. He only looked over his shoulder when Ghost suddenly became stiff and dropped his rifle as he rushed around, and when the bullet already met his shoulder.
The pain was irritating and Soap yelled up in pain and surprise. Drawing his pistol, he managed to shoot one of the attackers at least into the leg until he felt another shot going right through him, causing a ringing in his ears, and the world to fade around him.
He fell, not feeling any pain in the moment, but he knew he couldn’t move. It was wet all around him, and he started to become cold quickly, something which wasn’t a good sign.
But for some reason he wasn’t scared.
Surprised, irritated, maybe a bit angry with himself, but also somehow… amused.
He was dying. He was dying because he finally had shut up.
The irony was almost laughable.
“Johnny!”
Ghost returned to his side, wounded, but alive. The three attackers laid dead around them, and Soap could see Ghost hastily reaching for his radio, blood spread over his mask, his eyes angry and hectical at the same time.
“Soap’s down, I need med-evac, now!”
The ringing in Soap’s ears became stronger, the fog heavier and the coldness in his limbs continued to spread. A smile slipped on his features, his eyes focused on Ghost.
Ghost who ripped his mask off, wiping the blood over his face, shocked, worried, overwhelmed, pressing something – his mask - on Soap.
Perhaps to stop the bleeding? Soap wasn’t sure.
“Johnny? Johnny, fuck, stay with me!”
Ghost never was this stressed, this loud. Soap blinked a few times, until Ghost slapped him hard, putting a hand in Soap’s neck to squeeze and squeeze it again and again.
“Johnny, that’s a fucking order!”
A single chuckle left Soap, and he coughed, noticing something in his throat which shouldn’t be there. Ghost helped him cough, while pressing something on his stomach, but Soap didn’t concentrate.
It was quiet, peaceful almost. Ghost’s blond locks hung in his face, his beautiful brown eyes, covered by the face paint, sparkling with tears. Soap frowned, staring directly into them.
It was when he realized – this wasn’t Ghost tending to his wounds. This was Simon.
“Johnny, if you die right now, I’m going to fucking kill you!”
Ghost was quiet, but Simon was loud. Ghost was calm, but Simon was restless.
Soap frowned, leaning into the touch of Simon, feeling a familiar, dark fog climbing over his spine directly into his head.
“I’m…”
He needed to let him know, at least.
Soap wanted to swallow, to breathe, but now, it hurt. He frowned, coughing again, and Simon’s heavy grip in his neck was painful.
“I’m sorry.”
The last thing he saw was Whiskey brown staring at him. The last thing he heard was his name being yelled from Simon’s beautiful lips.
~~~~
When he awoke, everything hurt.
He awoke a few times, every time drifting off again quickly. Sometimes he caught glimpses of a nurse or a doctor, once he saw Price speaking to him, but couldn’t understand the words.
When he woke up for real, more than just for a few seconds, something was different.
His body still hurt, he still was in the same room, the same bed – but he wasn’t alone.
“Johnny…”
Hands, arms, a warm chest – Soap blinked into a warm embrace, hot breath against his head, until Simon sat up, pushing the mask over his face and ringing for the nurse.
He didn’t leave the room when the nurse entered, when Soap got examined, when Soap got debriefed about his wounds – two almost lethal wounds, one in his shoulder near his heart, and one in his stomach.
It would take months until he was fine again.
Again, Soap grew quiet.
Forgotten the relief, the pain, the hospital – Soap remembered why had shut up. And he had managed and still had fucked up.
Simon could have died because of him.
“Speak to me.”
Simon’s voice was a whisper, his fingers a gentle question on his knee. He frowned, peering into him and Soap swallowed.
This wasn’t fair.
He was at his lowest point, tired, exhausted and drained, and here was Simon, looking at him like that.
How could one be strong then?
“Speak to me, Johnny. Something’s wrong. You’re not yourself, let me fix it.”
Soap bit his lip. He felt tears of exhaustion and frustration leaving his eyes, felt Simon’s fingers sliding up to grab his hand, felt Simon’s body slipping under the blanket to hold Soap steady against his chest.
Ghost would never do this.
But when… how… why was Simon here now?
“I almost lost you, Johnny, I wanna know why.”
Patient, steady, but determined Simon whispered into his ear, quiet enough to not raise a headache, loud enough for him to hear. Soap clung to Simon’s chest, his arms, who felt so much more wonderful than he ever thought, than he ever could have imagined – and he wanted to burn this into his memory.
Because there was no single chance, they’d keep him in the 141 now.
“I’m sorry for fuckin’ up again.”
He barely mustered the words, but Simon seemed to understand him. Brushing over his head, his flat, unstyled mohawk, Simon pulled him closer.
“Don’t be. I’m your Lieutenant, I should have understood what’s off. Should have protected you better.”
Soap blinked, frustrated and angry now. “How can ya blame yarself for me bein’ a fuckin’ disappointment now?!” He huffed, before Simon could say something. “Ya were righ’. Ya got enough of me. And I managed tae be enough not even for a day, but forever now.”
He tried to crawl out of the embrace, which still confused him, but it wasn’t as if he could really do anything or think clearly.
Simon was quiet for a moment, before he leaned over, peering at him, opening his mouth and closing again, grimacing while making a frustrated sound.
“Good God, Johnny…”
And then Simon’s hand grabbed his face, but gently. Soap sniffed, tired and exhausted, in pain and confused. He looked up at Simon, who was shaking his head in disbelief.
“Never. I’ll never have enough of you.”
Pressing his forehead against Soap’s, Soap felt a shudder running over his spine. Simon’s thumb brushed over Soap’s cheek, his hot breath meeting Soap’s face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”
The kiss was unexpected.
Like a soft cloud meeting his lips, Simon brushed him. Careful, gentle, as if scared of breaking him. His lips weren’t as rough and dry as they looked like, instead they were soft like cotton candy, and tasted like smoke and that special unknown taste of Simon Soap was ready to get lost in.
Asking for entrance without words with his lips, Simon explored his mouth with a gentleness which calmed down Soap’s entire body and mind.
When they broke their kiss, Soap was left breath- and speechless.
He was quiet. Silenced, completely.
“I’ll never have enough of you, Johnny. Never. It’s not even possible.”
Simon looked at him, cupping his face, and swallowed hard. “I love you, you idiot. I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t mean it, but-”
By reflex, Soap leaned forward, meeting Simon in a kiss which was more fiercely than their last. Soap’s tired body was the only reason they stopped, and he fell back into his cushions, shuddering and shivering due to the sudden developments.
Simon let out a heavy breath, tucking him into his blanket.
“We’re both idiots. How can you think that? How could I have said that…”
Simon’s fingers caressed his cheek, and he pulled Soap closer to his chest while watching to not mess with Soap’s bandages.
“We’ll speak when you’re off your meds, Johnny. And when you’re rested. But please remember this when you wake up…”
Another kiss followed, light as a feather and as intoxicating like an injection with pure life energy. “I can never have enough of you.”
When Soap woke up hours later, he felt tired, exhausted and was in pain.
But Simon sat on the chair next to his bed, and Soap remembered.
The whispers in his ears, the taste of his lips on his own…
It wasn’t a fever dream. It wasn’t a nightmare. This was real.
And while they had a lot to work on… Soap smiled, resting his head in the cushions while looking at Simon.
Since he was a little boy, he had dreamed of that one person who’d love him how he was.
He finally found him.