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The task force had gone out to a local bar not too far from the base to celebrate their last mission. Soap was sat next to Ghost and across from Price and Gaz. They were a few drinks in, Soap could feel the buzz of the alcohol under his skin, and he was sharing a “funny” story about the time his father found out he was gay.
“The bastard told the church so they could ‘fix’ me,” he shuddered at the memory, but he covered it up with a laugh. Johnny wasn’t sure why he almost always ended up trauma-dumping when drunk, but he didn’t care enough to figure it out.
“God may forgive you for being gay, but no one is going to forgive you for that haircut,” Gaz laughed as he pointed at Soap. The other two joined in on the laughter soon after. Soap rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously, and he let out an uncomfortable laugh.
“Hah, there’s nothing wrong with my amazing hair,” he pretended to do a hair flip, trying his best not to let Gaz’s joke get to him. He felt like the joke sobered him up some, leading him to focus more on his newfound insecurity instead of the glass of Scotch in his hand.
“Yeah, Johnny. You look like a leftover reject from a late 2000s death metal band,” Ghost added with a chuckle. Johnny could never get Ghost to laugh no matter how hard he tried, but no, all it takes is a joke about his hair.
He had initially cut his hair like that as a joke when he was 17. He had planned to finish buzzing his head, but his ma adored it. She told him it looked good, so he kept it. That was right before he had left for the military, and that was also the last time he saw her alive. 11 years later, he never saw a reason to change it until now.
“Thanks,” he muttered as he took another sip of his Scotch. Ghost shoved him lightly. Soap knew he was smiling by the way his brown eyes crinkled under the mask.
“Oh c’mon, Johnny, no need to be so sensitive,” Ghost chided, no real heat behind the words.
–
“Come on, John! Don’t be so fucking sensitive. Man up and grow a fucking pair!” his dad shouted, grabbing John by his tear-stained face. John shut his eyes tightly as his dad pulled a fist back.
–
“Johnny?” Ghost questioned in a tone softer than Soap had ever heard from the man. Ghost had placed a comforting hand on the small of Soap’s back, rubbing soothing circles. Soap blinked a few times as he was pulled away from his memory. He leaned away from Ghost’s touch.
“All good, Lt,” Soap huffed. He looked up and saw Price and Gaz’s concerned gazes from across the table.
“I’m going to turn in for the night. I’m exhausted !” Soap forced a yawn as he stood from the table, abandoning his drink.
“I’ll come with you,” Ghost offered. Soap’s heart would flutter at the offer any other day, but right now, he just wanted to be alone, away from them.
“No!” He answered a little too quickly, “Ah, I mean, No thanks, Lt. Enjoy your night!” He corrected himself as he rushed out of the bar, hood over his head, covering up his iconic mohawk.
—
“Oh fuckin’ hell,” Soap cursed as he snapped out of whatever daze he had just been in. He looked around the bathroom and took note of the hair clippings on the floor, the electric razor in his hand. He moved his gaze to the mirror, where his distraught reflection stared back at him. Tears were streaming down his face, and his blue eyes were bloodshot. And worst of all… his signature mohawk was gone. He ran a shaking hand over his now buzzed head.
He groaned and threw his head back against the door. He barely remembered anything after leaving the bar, his body working on autopilot. He wasn’t entirely sure how he even got back to the base. Whatever, it’s tomorrow’s problem. He decided as he walked out of the bathroom to his bed.
–
He was woken up by a knock on his door. He knew it was Ghost just by the knocks. He pulled the blanket over his head, hoping that Ghost would give up and go away. He should have known better.
“Johnny, I’m coming in,” Ghost warned. Soap heard Ghost take a step back, undoubtedly getting ready to kick the door in.
“No!” He shouted, hopefully saving his door.
“Then open the door,” Ghost ordered.
“No, I’m sick. Sooo sick. It’s disgusting in here,” Soap was quick to lie.
“Then let me help you. I don’t care if it’s dirty,” Ghost’s voice softened. Damn him for being so kind. Soap froze, wracking his mind for any other excuse.
“Uh, I’m naked… naked as a baby. Mhm.” He inwardly cringed. Was that really all he could come up with!? Ghost was silent momentarily, and Soap thought maybe he had left.
“Okay, I’m coming in. Either you’re bullshitting, or you’re seriously sick.” Soap knew Ghost wasn’t giving up this time.
“Okay! Okay! I’m opening the door!” Soap called out. He frantically searched his room for any type of hat. He yanked a beanie over his head. Then, he opened the door, and he was met with an unamused Ghost.
“So sick,” Ghost echoed in a monotone voice as he pushed his way inside. Soap could see his eyebrows furrow under the mask.
“What’s with the beanie?” Ghost questioned as he eyes Soap.
“Cold. What do you want?” Soap hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but he wanted to be left alone. Memories of his parents and childhood plagued his mind after last night.
“To check on you and apologize.” Despite Soap’s anger, Ghost’s tone remained soft. Ghost pulled his mask off, neatly setting it down on Soap’s desk.
“Wha.. No need to apologize. Everything is fine,” Soap’s expression was full of shock and confusion. Ghost had come here to check on him and apologize? Plus the fact that Simon had taken the mask off left Soap even more confused.
Simon looked over to the opened bathroom door, and his expression fell. His brown eyes locked onto Soap, full of remorse.
“Johnny, take off the beanie,” he ordered softly. Soap could swear he heard Simon’s voice crack. Hesitantly, Soap removed the beanie with shaking hands. He lowered his head in shame. He heard Simon gasp softly. Warm, calloused hands came up to cup Soap’s face, guiding him to look at Simon.
“Oh, love.” If it was even possible, Simon’s voice softened again, full of guilt, “Your hair,” he whispered, running a hand over where the mohawk used to sit.
“That bad?” Johnny let out a watery laugh.
“No, no, your hair could never look bad,” Simon shook his head as he spoke, placing a kiss on the top of Johnny’s head. Under different circumstances, the action wouldn’t have gone unnoticed.
“But you said-”
“I didn’t mean it! What if I liked you as a leftover reject from a late 2000s death metal band?” This time, Simon let out a watery laugh, but his tone was still regretful.
“Well it wasn’t said that way,” Johnny reasoned, seriousness returning to his voice.
“I know. I know,” Simon whispered, pulling Johnny into a firm hug, resting his chin ontop of Johnny’s head.
“So you do like me?” Johnny decided to tease, not entirely knowing how to handle the emotional situation.
“Yes. I like you alive, and I like you with your iconic mohawk.” Johnny laughed at that.
“Iconic? That’s a lie,” Johnny huffed.
“It’s not. You look good no matter what haircut you have, but I think you are the only man who can actually pull off a mohawk,” Simon spoke truthfully. They stayed embraced for a few more minutes until Johnny interrupted the silence.
“Hey, you kissed me and called me ‘love’ earlier!” Johnny accused, his voice slightly muffled from where he was pressed into Simon’s chest.
“That I did,” Simon chuckled.
“Do it again,” Johnny pleaded softly. Simon quickly placed another kiss on top of his head. Johnny turned to look up at Simon and connected their lips in a sweet kiss.