Chapter Text
There’s something to be said about easy companionship. Ghost has spent so much of his life uneasy by the close presence of others, even when he knows that human interaction is good, and not everyone who sits next to him in the mess hall, or the stranger that glances at him walking through the hallways are out to hurt him, it’s impossible to shake the uneasiness. When you’ve had to dig yourself out of your own grave with another man’s jaw, you tend to not trust so easy. Even when he’s been able to find someone whose physical presence he can tolerate, actually maintaining that connection always proved too much of a chore. This has never particularly bothered Ghost of course; he prefers the solitude, is content with just the company of his teammates and fellow soldiers on assignments as his main point of human interaction.
When he wanted company, he found it, scratched the itch, moved on, and cleaned his hands of it until the next time he’s feeling particularly restless.
The 141 was… different, from any other group he’s been a part of. The bond between the group is comfortable, and Ghost finds that the expectations of interacting with them isn’t the same as it used to be- the easy way he sinks into the group filling parts long thought dead inside himself with warmth that weighs his limbs down with comfort and family.
It all started with Price, the traitor, dragging him to poker nights in the rec room every Thursday night when they’re on base. Poker night is expectedly insane; Gaz yelling at Soap for cheating no matter if the Scot has a winning hand or not, Alejandro’s roaring laugh whenever he’s called out for his terrible poker face, and everyone’s despondent groans when Nikolai inevitably cleans them all out by the end of the night.
It’s an environment Ghost should abhor, the rowdy, raucous noises usually grating on him like someone is taking sandpaper to his skin. Yet, every Thursday, Ghost can’t help himself from trailing after Price when he comes to find him and settling into the rec room some distance away from the poker table, the noises of his teammates settling into that space behind his ribcage and warming the rest of his body.
Slowly, with Ghost establishing himself as a regular attendee of poker nights, other members of the 141 started to work on carving their own spaces within his soul. Mornings would find Gaz sitting in the mess hall with a second mug of tea, made exactly how Ghost liked it. Alejandro and Rudy started joining him in the gym regularly, the Vaqueros always ready to spar with him on the mats or run on the treadmill until their legs turned to jelly and they had to leave the gym supporting each other’s weight.
Farah, and by extension, Alex, quickly become constant presences in his routine, with Farah usually opting to sit with him on the couch and speak in low tones together while the rest of the group yell and cackle. Casual chats together during poker nights quickly spirals into Ghost actively seeking Farah out, her constant, steady presence something that soothes his most frayed edges. And Farah reciprocates at every turn, her dark gaze always going soft and warm when she looks at him, in a way that he has only seen her do for Alex. Their friendship also has the added benefit of bothering Soap and Gaz, who pester them non-stop, the former moaning about how unfair it is that Farah gets to see under Ghost’s mask whenever she wants, even though ‘he was friends with Ghost first.’ Even Alex, who always seems amused by their friendship, jokes with the rest of the 141 that Farah has replaced him. Ghost, who has spent so long desiring isolation, finds himself incapable of not sinking into the easy relationships with the people around him; each member of the 141 quickly going from being labeled as “teammates” to “family” in Ghost’s mind. He’s never had an easy existence, his father, Roba, and the military made certain of that, but after so many years of amputating the part of himself that craves being wanted by another person, he finds himself aching to let the easy affection of his team swallow him whole. And swallow him it does.
And while Ghost values and appreciates all of his relationships with various members of 141, all of them far more than he ever thought himself deserving of, none of them compared to the sheer adoration he feels for Soap.
Because no matter what Soap said when he complains about Farah being able to see underneath his mask, or whatever jokes Alex makes about being replaced by Ghost; no one takes up residence in his heart quite like Soap does. What started out as genuine respect for the other man turned quickly into an infatuation Ghost didn’t even think himself capable of. He’s found people attractive before, has acted on that attraction, but nothing has ever felt the way he feels when Soap locks that bright gaze on him, or smiles at him like Ghost is the only person in the room.
There are moments when it becomes almost too much- the attention from the Scot burning him like the afternoon sun; hot, bright and all consuming. It’s in moments like these that Ghost thinks that maybe, just maybe, the sergeant returns his affections; his bright smile splitting his face as he banters (flirts) with Ghost. There’s a difference between attention, and the way Soap looks at him, the two of them so in tune with each other it’s almost supernatural. But, just as there are times when Ghost thinks for sure, his love is not one-sided, there are times where Soap is so, painfully, obviously not into men, least of all him. The times when Ghost looks up from his drink at a night out with the rest of his team, only to find Soap leaning into a pretty woman’s space, megawatt smile and intense gaze directed at her, makes him quickly crush any desire to confess to the Scot. Ghost can’t risk destroying the best relationship he has in his life, the best thing he has ever had, just because he can’t control himself or his emotions. He would rather spend the rest of his life smothering the love he feels for Soap if it means the sergeant keeps smiling at him like he could love a man. Like he could love a man like Simon Riley.
Because Simon knows who he is, and what he wants. He knows that he will never feel the way he feels about anyone else, other than Johnny. And if Johnny doesn’t feel the same, is disgusted by him for wanting another man, then Simon would rather kill that part of himself that loves Johnny than lose the other man for good.
-
It’s just him and Soap in the gym when Ghost finally slipped up. They had just finished a rather grueling workout, the type that Ghost loves; the type that leaves him with sore muscles and sweat soaked skin. Soap, who ran hot on a normal day, had quickly stripped down to just his shorts, and Ghost can’t help the way his eyes trail down Soap’s bare chest, thick hair matted down from sweat and his abs shining in the overhead lights.
Ghost had been around his fair share of shirtless men, both by virtue of being in the military and in his time off, but all of them pale in comparison to Soap. Ghost has always been attracted to men larger than him, even if he towers over 90% of the population, he still tends to gravitate towards men who can manhandle him the way he loves, men who can toss him around and leave bruises on his hips and thighs from gripping too hard. And Soap fits the bill perfectly. Even with the other man standing almost half a foot shorter than himself, the Scotsman is all thick, stocky muscle and pure power.
The man could even flip Ghost during a spar, the strength packed in every muscle hiding under smooth, tanned skin not something to take lightly.
Ghost’s attention was finally dragged away from the other man’s chest when his sergeant’s voice rings out, clear as a church bell.
“Yeah? Like what you see, Ghostie? I know you wish you could touch, but you gotta buy me dinner first,” the smirk on Soap’s face is almost obscene, and Ghost feels his heart flutter at other man’s words.
Ghost can’t help but let his gaze drift, his eyes falling from Soap’s eye back down to his mouth, watching the way the sergeant’s lips move as he continued to speak.
Slowly, with his eyes still locked on Soap’s face, Ghost reached up, grasped his mask, the lightweight, black surgical mask he favored for working out, and carefully pulled it down to below his jaw. The motion seems to stun Soap into silence, his mouth hanging ajar as he watches the lieutenant pull the black fabric away to reveal pink lips and pale skin.
“Ghost- what, is everything okay?”
Ghost doesn’t speak, worried that if he does, if he says the wrong thing, he’ll ruin the moment, and that he’ll have to walk away from another missed opportunity. He just kept his gaze locked onto Soap’s, honeyed amber meeting a steely ocean as the shorter man met his eyes. There’s concern behind that blue gaze, Soap unsure of what to make of his lieutenant peeling his mask off unprompted.
He moved closer to the other man, his eyes never dropping from Soap’s sharp gaze. Leaning in, glacially slow, trying to broadcast what he’s about to do- what he’s been burning to do for months now- Simon finally letting himself have one small indulgence.
A shuddering breath, and Ghost’s lips brushed Soap’s in a whispered caress. Just as he’s about to press firmer, to deepen the kiss, Soap was ripping away from him, taking quick steps back. His blue eyes were wide, and Ghost realized than, that his worst fear has come to light. He had been so foolish. Johnny didn’t want a man. Johnny didn’t want him.
“I… Simon. I’m sorry but you know, I’m not into you. Like that?” The way Johnny is phrasing it, makes it sound like a question, and Simon feels his eyes sting, “It’s not you, you know I’m just…I’m straight, yeah?”
Simon tugged his mask back up, cheeks flaming. How could he have been so fucking stupid? He had let his feelings for Johnny completely blind him, completely ignore the glaring signs that the other man wasn’t into him. He can’t even breath right now; the stale air of the gym closing in on him, smothering him under the thick tension. It takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize Johnny was talking to him again.
“Listen, I’m sorry L.t., for giving you the wrong impression, but I just see you as a friend you know? Another soldier,” Johnny paused, his whole-body rigid. The closed off body language distresses Simon even further, the fact that he had almost kissed the sergeant and made him so uncomfortable that he had to curl in on himself made Simon want to disappear where he stood. He never wanted to make Johnny uncomfortable, he never wanted to be responsible for the hunched posture the sergeant was displaying.
“Let’s just forget it, yeah? No harm, we can just pretend it even happened.” Johnny’s chuckling when he spoke, talking so casually about erasing a moment that means more to Simon than any other moment in his entire life ever would.
He was so stupid.
Finally, when he feels like he can talk without choking, Simon spoke softly.
“Yeah, yeah… that’s a good idea,” Simon turned abruptly, no longer able to face the cause of his greatest embarrassment. He can’t be here anymore, not with Johnny looking at him like that. He hears Johnny shuffle around, and Simon spoke once more, rushing the words out as he grabs his belongings to flee the gym.
“I’m sorry, Johnny. It’ll never happen again.” He’s out the door before the sergeant can even think to respond.
As he left the gym, breath caught in his throat, all he can hear is his father’s sneering voice in his head, a snake’s hiss with venom dripping from each fang.
Stupid, worthless boy. How could anyone love someone like you?
For the first time in his life, Simon is inclined to agree.