randooffthestreet99

[randooffthestreet99]

Day 18: Secret

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[randooffthestreet99]

Kaleidoscope

Ghost x Soap

2.5k words (may make a second part)

Ghost was fine. Completely fine. Today was no different than the day before, or the day before that. Same breakfast, same coffee, same rookies, same…everything. Routine was what he was used to, part of the reason he joined the military, but it made it easy to go on auto-pilot most of the time.

Everything was normal. Everything was fine. The only break in his schedule would be a mission here and there. Lately all of them were low risk, Price still being overly cautious after their last one. Though to be fair, Makarov was dead. There wasn’t any big terrorist to go after, so of course their missions were slow.

It was making Ghost go crazy.

Luckily their latest mission was a bit more exciting, however, there was a downside. He had to go to Mexico. It was nice to see Rodolfo and Alejandro again, but it felt stiff, more formal than it was last time. He knew why. They knew why. None of them brought it up.

After a successful mission, they went out for drinks. He could do bars pretty well. He could bury himself in some dark corner and the others felt bad enough for him to leave him to his bourbon. Or scotch, depended on how drunk he was.

It seemed he would get no such mercy tonight. When he went for an abandoned corner, Alejandro caught him. “Hermano, where are you going? We’re buying drinks for everyone tonight.” He had no choice but to nod and take a seat on the farthest end of the bar.

It felt wrong, seeing everyone laughing without hearing the laugh he loved the most. He sighed. He was too sober for this.

After his third bourbon, he felt muddled enough to not care anymore. His first scotch burned his throat. He didn’t really hate scotch, but the taste was so much better now. He took another sip, frowning. No, maybe not. He was just drunk and sappy.

He flinched when somebody suddenly threw an arm over his shoulder, relaxing by a fraction when he saw it was just a very drunk Alejandro. “Ghost, you look so sad over here…” He whined, his breath reeking of tequila. Ghost casually shrugged the arm off. “I’m fine.”

Alejandro slunk into the seat next to him. “Y’know, Los Vaqueros were very sad when we heard about Soap. I still am very sad. You are too, I see it in your eyes. You two were close, no? Like- like Rudy and I.”

Ghost felt like crawling out of his skin. “No. Not like that.” He said carefully, hating the words. Were they ever like that? Were they ever close to it? It felt like they were, but that could be his own damn feelings twisting their innocent interactions into something more to keep his own perversions satisfied. He didn’t want to tarnish Johnny’s memory like that.

Oh god. Johnny. That was what he called him, wasn’t it? Not Soap, not Sergeant MacTavish, not him, Johnny. His Johnny.

“Only Ghost can pull that off.”

He stumbled to his feet, breathing harder than he should be. “I- have to go. Bathroom.” Alejandro nodded solemnly, slumping over the bar.

Ghost practically rushed to the shitty bathroom, slamming the door a little too hard for someone who was supposed to be in control. His mask felt like it was choking him, so he ripped it off, turning the sink on and splashing the lukewarm water over his face in an attempt to calm himself down.

Nobody had said his name since he died. He hadn’t called him by his name since he died.

“Y’know, Lt?” He’d said one night after one too many drinks. “I think I’m afraid of being forgotten. It’s stupid, but…I don’t want to be just another dead soldier, killed and forgotten, I want to be remembered. I want to know that even if I die, there’s proof I existed.”

Ghost understood. There was nothing left of him when he died, considering he was dead on paper, but he understood the fear. He wanted there to be proof of Johnny’s existence too. He was too good to be forgotten.

“I’ll remember you, Johnny.” He’d said, which had earned him a blindingly bright smile and a warm head on his shoulder.

Oh god. He was going to puke. He went over to the toilet, the alcohol burning his throat on the way back up. He gripped his hair, his eyes watering from the bile. His breath was catching on sobs, his chest hurting with every ragged inhale. Was this the first time he’d cried?

Someone was in the bathroom with him, falling to their knees next to him and saying something. Was the bathroom always this small? Whoever was there started taking deep, exaggerated breaths until Ghost instinctively started matching their breaths. Finally, he calmed down. He blinked his eyes open to see Rodolfo looking at him, concerned.

His gaze softened. “There you are, fantasma. I saw Alej say something to you, and then you kinda…fled. What did he…?” Ghost winced, grabbing his mask. “...He…we never… he thought we were like you two. But I never-” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, taking a shuddering breath. Rodolfo just looked sad.

“You’re allowed to grieve, Ghost. Even if it wasn’t like that.”

They didn’t say anything else, just sat there on the probably filthy floor. Ghost couldn’t bring himself to care.

They eventually had to move when a drunk stumbled in and hurled in the toilet. Ghost grimaced and pulled his mask back on, standing up. “...I’m leaving. Can you tell Price?” Rodolfo nodded, smiling gently. “...you can call us whenever, Ghost. We’re friends, no?” Ghost nodded, despite being sure he probably wouldn’t call.

He didn’t sleep at all that night. He honestly hadn’t slept except for when his body shut down and forced him to. In a few days, it would be half a year since he’d hit the floor in that godforsaken tunnel. He’d saved Price’s life. Ghost doesn’t know if he’d have reacted like this if Price had died instead, but he knew that wasn’t fair to either of them.

His Johnny would never be able to live with himself if he could have saved Price and didn't. So he died instead.

He knew Price felt horrible about it, remembering how the captain had occasionally shared the dark corners in bars with him, apologizing to him for not being dead. He remembered comforting him, even when he selfishly agreed.

It seemed he was doing better lately, even if he was still keeping his remaining boys as close as possible. Gaz had been wrecked, taking a week of leave after Makarov was dead, but he was healing. Ghost was once again left as a spirit, alive but not living.

The sun rose on another day with a routine, another day of Ghost being completely and totally fine, mentally stable, and definitely not having panic attacks in bar bathrooms.

That’s what he told the psych evals anyway.

He just nodded at Alejandro’s panicked apology the next day, quietly reassuring him that it really wasn’t a big deal. After all, they hadn’t been anything but friends. He was nursing one hell of a hangover, but the headache may have been from sleep deprivation. Didn’t matter.

He was slowly destroying himself, even if he couldn’t admit it to anyone else, the lack of sleep slowly creeping into his subconscious as he started to hear a Scottish brogue just around corners, started seeing a mohawk and pretty blue eyes just in his peripheral. During the first few days he’d turn around and nothing would be there, but the hallucinations grew stronger the longer he stayed awake.

A few times, he’d catch himself trying to talk to it, but he never got past a small sound before it went away. He learned to listen, just to hear the voice a little longer.

The night before the 141 left, some of the Vaqueros insisted on taking them for drinks again. Ghost had a feeling they just looked for any excuse to drink, but he went anyway, taking care to avoid any and all drunk people. He watched the blurry body that wasn’t there sit in the seat in front of him, staring right back.

“Scotch, Lt? This early? You really do need to sleep, don’t you?” He sighed, nodding along to it’s words without really realizing. It could be sweet at times. At others, it tormented him. He didn’t know whether he craved it’s attention or wished he never had to see it again.

Laswell appeared later into the evening. He hadn’t even been aware she was there in Mexico.

He saw Price look at her, his face as confused as he felt. “Laswell? What the bloody hell are you doing here?” …okay. Maybe she hadn’t been in Mexico. She made a pained face, looking guilty. “...there’s someone I want you to talk to. We were going to wait until you got back to base, but he wanted to talk to the Colonel and Sergeant Major too.” Price sat up. “Another mission?”

Laswell glanced behind her. “Not exactly.” The bar had gone quiet. She sighed. “Look, just- don’t blame me. I didn’t even know about this until a few weeks ago, and then you boys went on a mission…” She shook her head. “I’m going to grab him. Give me a second.”

She walked out of the bar, people murmuring. Ghost downed the rest of his drink, walking over to Price. “What the hell was that about?” He asked softly, eyeing the door wearily. Price tapped his fingers on the bar counter. “Not a clue. We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Gaz hummed from next to Price.

Laswell walked back into the bar, crossing her arms and stepping to the side for the man behind her. He was on crutches, his brown hair falling into his bright blue eyes slightly. Ghost stared at the man, sighing. Of all the times for him to hallucinate, he was projecting his image onto this new member of the team, most likely. He heard Gaz gasp painfully, and saw Price tighten his hold on his glass in a white-knuckled grip.

“What the fuck?” He heard Alejandro say behind him. Price stood up, pulling the man into a tight hug. “You scared the shit out of us, John.” Ghost exhaled, feeling his chest constrict. “You can see him too?” He heard himself question. He saw the man’s blue eyes grow concerned and Price give him an alarmed look.

“Ghost, have you been hallucinating?” The man ignored Price and hobbled closer to Ghost.

“Hey, Lt. Did you miss me?” He made a pained noise. There was no mistaking that voice. People, hardened military men, were crying. Ghost made a wounded noise, stumbling out of his chair, nearly eating shit on the bar floor. “I- I have to go.” He wheezed, pushing past the man that couldn’t be there and running out the bar doors, ignoring the shouts of his name. His footsteps pounded against the concrete, his legs giving out on him. He scrambled into a side alley, curling into a ball because it was wrong. Everything was wrong.

It was pathetic, really. The big, bad, unshakable Simon “Ghost” Riley, who could withstand the most disgusting and gruesome bits of torture this world had to offfer, trembling in an alley because he couldn’t handle the fact that the person he cared the most about in the world might still be alive. He felt his phone buzzing insistently in his pocket, but his vision was growing black and he couldn’t bring himself to move and pick it up.

He had no idea how long he sat there before somebody found him. Logically, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide forever, with Price having the location on his phone at all times, but he hadn't been expecting them to go after him so quickly. Or maybe it hadn’t been quick.

He heard the clacking of crutches against a brick wall and a soft grunt of pain as the man lowered himself to sit next to him. He shut his eyes like a child, hiding like it would keep him from having to face the truth.

“Simon.” He said gently, and Ghost couldn’t help but gasp quietly and flinch.

They sat in silence for a bit, before the man sighed. “I’m so fucking sorry, Ghost. The doctors- they told me I really shouldn’t be alive. I died, but…they brought me back. Didn’t really understand any of it. They told me you held a funeral for me. I…actually don’t know how you did that. But…christ, Ghost, I never meant to die in front of you like that. Always thought I wasn’t going to make it, but… I guess I never really accepted the reality of it.”

Ghost dared to open his eyes, looking at him for the first time. He could see the scar from the bullet, but it was unmistakably Johnny, even if his signature mohawk was gone and his beard was fluffier, even if he had hearing aids.

He caught his eye and smiled. “There you are.” Ghost swallowed around the lump in his throat. “You…you really are alive, aren’t you?” He said hoarsely. Soap shook his head slightly, huffing fondly, and the familiarity of it made Simon’s heart ache. “Aye. Just could nae stay away, Lt. Grown too fond of ye, ya bastard.”

Ghost’s shoulders shook with relieved laughter despite himself, leaning his head against the wall. “You fucking asshole. I really thought you died.” He couldn’t help the way his voice cracked on the words. Soap hummed, grinning lopsidedly at him. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.” Ghost worried his lip between his teeth, frowning.

“I…I can’t- I don’t want to get rid of you.” He said quietly. The grin on Soap’s face slipped into something more understanding. “I know, Lt.” Ghost shook his head, feeling almost desperate to get his point across in case he disappeared again. “No, I- you can stay. Forever, if you want.” His throat felt tight all over again. “Johnny, I- I love you.”

He heard him inhale sharply, and he rushed to fix what he felt like he ruined. “It doesn’t matter if you feel the same, I just want to be by your side. I wanted that bomb to go off, fuck, I wanted to die by you.” He put his face in his hands.

“...I can’t live without you.”

The silence was deafening, but it was broken by Soap’s wet laugh. Ghost looked at him, confused at the tears on Johnny’s face. He wiped them off, a wide smile on his face. “You daft bastard. I love you too. God, we’re so bad at this.” He leaned against Ghost.

“...I want to die with you too. But I can’t rejoin the 141. I lost all my strength, and my hearing has gone to shit. I can’t die on the field with you, but…maybe we- maybe you could live. Would you live for me?” Simon’s mouth went dry.

“For you, Johnny?” He took a deep breath, tucking his face in the crook of his neck, shutting his eyes. He was home.

“...For you, I think I could try.”

[randooffthestreet99]

Ghost!!

[randooffthestreet99]

Ghost!!

[randooffthestreet99]

Kaleidoscope

Ghost x Soap

2.5k words (may make a second part)

Ghost was fine. Completely fine. Today was no different than the day before, or the day before that. Same breakfast, same coffee, same rookies, same…everything. Routine was what he was used to, part of the reason he joined the military, but it made it easy to go on auto-pilot most of the time.

Everything was normal. Everything was fine. The only break in his schedule would be a mission here and there. Lately all of them were low risk, Price still being overly cautious after their last one. Though to be fair, Makarov was dead. There wasn’t any big terrorist to go after, so of course their missions were slow.

It was making Ghost go crazy.

Luckily their latest mission was a bit more exciting, however, there was a downside. He had to go to Mexico. It was nice to see Rodolfo and Alejandro again, but it felt stiff, more formal than it was last time. He knew why. They knew why. None of them brought it up.

After a successful mission, they went out for drinks. He could do bars pretty well. He could bury himself in some dark corner and the others felt bad enough for him to leave him to his bourbon. Or scotch, depended on how drunk he was.

It seemed he would get no such mercy tonight. When he went for an abandoned corner, Alejandro caught him. “Hermano, where are you going? We’re buying drinks for everyone tonight.” He had no choice but to nod and take a seat on the farthest end of the bar.

It felt wrong, seeing everyone laughing without hearing the laugh he loved the most. He sighed. He was too sober for this.

After his third bourbon, he felt muddled enough to not care anymore. His first scotch burned his throat. He didn’t really hate scotch, but the taste was so much better now. He took another sip, frowning. No, maybe not. He was just drunk and sappy.

He flinched when somebody suddenly threw an arm over his shoulder, relaxing by a fraction when he saw it was just a very drunk Alejandro. “Ghost, you look so sad over here…” He whined, his breath reeking of tequila. Ghost casually shrugged the arm off. “I’m fine.”

Alejandro slunk into the seat next to him. “Y’know, Los Vaqueros were very sad when we heard about Soap. I still am very sad. You are too, I see it in your eyes. You two were close, no? Like- like Rudy and I.”

Ghost felt like crawling out of his skin. “No. Not like that.” He said carefully, hating the words. Were they ever like that? Were they ever close to it? It felt like they were, but that could be his own damn feelings twisting their innocent interactions into something more to keep his own perversions satisfied. He didn’t want to tarnish Johnny’s memory like that.

Oh god. Johnny. That was what he called him, wasn’t it? Not Soap, not Sergeant MacTavish, not him, Johnny. His Johnny.

“Only Ghost can pull that off.”

He stumbled to his feet, breathing harder than he should be. “I- have to go. Bathroom.” Alejandro nodded solemnly, slumping over the bar.

Ghost practically rushed to the shitty bathroom, slamming the door a little too hard for someone who was supposed to be in control. His mask felt like it was choking him, so he ripped it off, turning the sink on and splashing the lukewarm water over his face in an attempt to calm himself down.

Nobody had said his name since he died. He hadn’t called him by his name since he died.

“Y’know, Lt?” He’d said one night after one too many drinks. “I think I’m afraid of being forgotten. It’s stupid, but…I don’t want to be just another dead soldier, killed and forgotten, I want to be remembered. I want to know that even if I die, there’s proof I existed.”

Ghost understood. There was nothing left of him when he died, considering he was dead on paper, but he understood the fear. He wanted there to be proof of Johnny’s existence too. He was too good to be forgotten.

“I’ll remember you, Johnny.” He’d said, which had earned him a blindingly bright smile and a warm head on his shoulder.

Oh god. He was going to puke. He went over to the toilet, the alcohol burning his throat on the way back up. He gripped his hair, his eyes watering from the bile. His breath was catching on sobs, his chest hurting with every ragged inhale. Was this the first time he’d cried?

Someone was in the bathroom with him, falling to their knees next to him and saying something. Was the bathroom always this small? Whoever was there started taking deep, exaggerated breaths until Ghost instinctively started matching their breaths. Finally, he calmed down. He blinked his eyes open to see Rodolfo looking at him, concerned.

His gaze softened. “There you are, fantasma. I saw Alej say something to you, and then you kinda…fled. What did he…?” Ghost winced, grabbing his mask. “...He…we never… he thought we were like you two. But I never-” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, taking a shuddering breath. Rodolfo just looked sad.

“You’re allowed to grieve, Ghost. Even if it wasn’t like that.”

They didn’t say anything else, just sat there on the probably filthy floor. Ghost couldn’t bring himself to care.

They eventually had to move when a drunk stumbled in and hurled in the toilet. Ghost grimaced and pulled his mask back on, standing up. “...I’m leaving. Can you tell Price?” Rodolfo nodded, smiling gently. “...you can call us whenever, Ghost. We’re friends, no?” Ghost nodded, despite being sure he probably wouldn’t call.

He didn’t sleep at all that night. He honestly hadn’t slept except for when his body shut down and forced him to. In a few days, it would be half a year since he’d hit the floor in that godforsaken tunnel. He’d saved Price’s life. Ghost doesn’t know if he’d have reacted like this if Price had died instead, but he knew that wasn’t fair to either of them.

His Johnny would never be able to live with himself if he could have saved Price and didn't. So he died instead.

He knew Price felt horrible about it, remembering how the captain had occasionally shared the dark corners in bars with him, apologizing to him for not being dead. He remembered comforting him, even when he selfishly agreed.

It seemed he was doing better lately, even if he was still keeping his remaining boys as close as possible. Gaz had been wrecked, taking a week of leave after Makarov was dead, but he was healing. Ghost was once again left as a spirit, alive but not living.

The sun rose on another day with a routine, another day of Ghost being completely and totally fine, mentally stable, and definitely not having panic attacks in bar bathrooms.

That’s what he told the psych evals anyway.

He just nodded at Alejandro’s panicked apology the next day, quietly reassuring him that it really wasn’t a big deal. After all, they hadn’t been anything but friends. He was nursing one hell of a hangover, but the headache may have been from sleep deprivation. Didn’t matter.

He was slowly destroying himself, even if he couldn’t admit it to anyone else, the lack of sleep slowly creeping into his subconscious as he started to hear a Scottish brogue just around corners, started seeing a mohawk and pretty blue eyes just in his peripheral. During the first few days he’d turn around and nothing would be there, but the hallucinations grew stronger the longer he stayed awake.

A few times, he’d catch himself trying to talk to it, but he never got past a small sound before it went away. He learned to listen, just to hear the voice a little longer.

The night before the 141 left, some of the Vaqueros insisted on taking them for drinks again. Ghost had a feeling they just looked for any excuse to drink, but he went anyway, taking care to avoid any and all drunk people. He watched the blurry body that wasn’t there sit in the seat in front of him, staring right back.

“Scotch, Lt? This early? You really do need to sleep, don’t you?” He sighed, nodding along to it’s words without really realizing. It could be sweet at times. At others, it tormented him. He didn’t know whether he craved it’s attention or wished he never had to see it again.

Laswell appeared later into the evening. He hadn’t even been aware she was there in Mexico.

He saw Price look at her, his face as confused as he felt. “Laswell? What the bloody hell are you doing here?” …okay. Maybe she hadn’t been in Mexico. She made a pained face, looking guilty. “...there’s someone I want you to talk to. We were going to wait until you got back to base, but he wanted to talk to the Colonel and Sergeant Major too.” Price sat up. “Another mission?”

Laswell glanced behind her. “Not exactly.” The bar had gone quiet. She sighed. “Look, just- don’t blame me. I didn’t even know about this until a few weeks ago, and then you boys went on a mission…” She shook her head. “I’m going to grab him. Give me a second.”

She walked out of the bar, people murmuring. Ghost downed the rest of his drink, walking over to Price. “What the hell was that about?” He asked softly, eyeing the door wearily. Price tapped his fingers on the bar counter. “Not a clue. We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Gaz hummed from next to Price.

Laswell walked back into the bar, crossing her arms and stepping to the side for the man behind her. He was on crutches, his brown hair falling into his bright blue eyes slightly. Ghost stared at the man, sighing. Of all the times for him to hallucinate, he was projecting his image onto this new member of the team, most likely. He heard Gaz gasp painfully, and saw Price tighten his hold on his glass in a white-knuckled grip.

“What the fuck?” He heard Alejandro say behind him. Price stood up, pulling the man into a tight hug. “You scared the shit out of us, John.” Ghost exhaled, feeling his chest constrict. “You can see him too?” He heard himself question. He saw the man’s blue eyes grow concerned and Price give him an alarmed look.

“Ghost, have you been hallucinating?” The man ignored Price and hobbled closer to Ghost.

“Hey, Lt. Did you miss me?” He made a pained noise. There was no mistaking that voice. People, hardened military men, were crying. Ghost made a wounded noise, stumbling out of his chair, nearly eating shit on the bar floor. “I- I have to go.” He wheezed, pushing past the man that couldn’t be there and running out the bar doors, ignoring the shouts of his name. His footsteps pounded against the concrete, his legs giving out on him. He scrambled into a side alley, curling into a ball because it was wrong. Everything was wrong.

It was pathetic, really. The big, bad, unshakable Simon “Ghost” Riley, who could withstand the most disgusting and gruesome bits of torture this world had to offfer, trembling in an alley because he couldn’t handle the fact that the person he cared the most about in the world might still be alive. He felt his phone buzzing insistently in his pocket, but his vision was growing black and he couldn’t bring himself to move and pick it up.

He had no idea how long he sat there before somebody found him. Logically, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide forever, with Price having the location on his phone at all times, but he hadn't been expecting them to go after him so quickly. Or maybe it hadn’t been quick.

He heard the clacking of crutches against a brick wall and a soft grunt of pain as the man lowered himself to sit next to him. He shut his eyes like a child, hiding like it would keep him from having to face the truth.

“Simon.” He said gently, and Ghost couldn’t help but gasp quietly and flinch.

They sat in silence for a bit, before the man sighed. “I’m so fucking sorry, Ghost. The doctors- they told me I really shouldn’t be alive. I died, but…they brought me back. Didn’t really understand any of it. They told me you held a funeral for me. I…actually don’t know how you did that. But…christ, Ghost, I never meant to die in front of you like that. Always thought I wasn’t going to make it, but… I guess I never really accepted the reality of it.”

Ghost dared to open his eyes, looking at him for the first time. He could see the scar from the bullet, but it was unmistakably Johnny, even if his signature mohawk was gone and his beard was fluffier, even if he had hearing aids.

He caught his eye and smiled. “There you are.” Ghost swallowed around the lump in his throat. “You…you really are alive, aren’t you?” He said hoarsely. Soap shook his head slightly, huffing fondly, and the familiarity of it made Simon’s heart ache. “Aye. Just could nae stay away, Lt. Grown too fond of ye, ya bastard.”

Ghost’s shoulders shook with relieved laughter despite himself, leaning his head against the wall. “You fucking asshole. I really thought you died.” He couldn’t help the way his voice cracked on the words. Soap hummed, grinning lopsidedly at him. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.” Ghost worried his lip between his teeth, frowning.

“I…I can’t- I don’t want to get rid of you.” He said quietly. The grin on Soap’s face slipped into something more understanding. “I know, Lt.” Ghost shook his head, feeling almost desperate to get his point across in case he disappeared again. “No, I- you can stay. Forever, if you want.” His throat felt tight all over again. “Johnny, I- I love you.”

He heard him inhale sharply, and he rushed to fix what he felt like he ruined. “It doesn’t matter if you feel the same, I just want to be by your side. I wanted that bomb to go off, fuck, I wanted to die by you.” He put his face in his hands.

“...I can’t live without you.”

The silence was deafening, but it was broken by Soap’s wet laugh. Ghost looked at him, confused at the tears on Johnny’s face. He wiped them off, a wide smile on his face. “You daft bastard. I love you too. God, we’re so bad at this.” He leaned against Ghost.

“...I want to die with you too. But I can’t rejoin the 141. I lost all my strength, and my hearing has gone to shit. I can’t die on the field with you, but…maybe we- maybe you could live. Would you live for me?” Simon’s mouth went dry.

“For you, Johnny?” He took a deep breath, tucking his face in the crook of his neck, shutting his eyes. He was home.

“...For you, I think I could try.”

[randooffthestreet99]

Source | Day 89

[randooffthestreet99]

(Inofficial) Ghoaptober

Day 24: Wish

Summary: Ghost buys flowers for Soap

Going to a pub or a bar was a regular enough occurrence that the 141 had a little bit of a system. Price was the designated driver, so he’d nurse one drink for an hour or so before cutting himself off. Gaz and Soap drank enough to cause Ghost to get a sympathy headache, and Ghost himself would have a drink or two. Of course, he was never allowed to drive since Soap wouldn’t let him hear the end of what had happened in Las Almas.

If one or both of the sergeants got clingy, they wouldn’t bring it up in the morning.

“Ghost….Lt.” Soap whined, leaning against the brick wall of a man fearlessly. “Y’know I've never gotten flowers before? Have nae seen many flowers since I was a bairn.” Ghost sighed heavily. “That so?

The Scot nodded, taking a sip of his final drink. (Price had cut him off) “Dunnae why… Maybe cuz ah’m a big lad? Maybe…cuz they think ah would nae like em. But ah do! Love flowers.” He set his drink down. “It’s mah birthday end o’ this month. Prob’ly will nae get any flowers this year either, ye ken.”

Ghost just hummed. He’d known about his upcoming birthday, Gaz having already planned an outing to a pub that evening. He’d bought him a new sketchbook and nice pencils after learning about his affinity for drawing.

Soap groaned, his stomach lurching slightly. Ghost hissed, scooting away from him. “Don’t you dare throw up on me.” Soap laughed, wincing. “Ah won’t. Ye- ye ken, my ma had a flower garden. Before we grew apart, I used to help her tend to em. Loved the roses. They were mah favorite. Cliche, I ken.” He sniffled. “Miss em. Hell, miss me ma.”

Ghost sighed, hooking his arm over his shoulder. “You’re drunk, Soap. We should get you home.” The man groaned, but didn’t protest.

The day before Soap’s birthday, Ghost found himself thinking about that conversation. Sure, Soap had been drunk, but he also tended to be a bit more honest when he was drunk. Ghost found himself looking for stores near the pub that sold flowers.

When he found one, he just stared at the bouquets for a solid ten minutes before an employee came over. “Need help, sir?” She asked him, smiling a little wearily. He hummed. “...don’t know flowers.” He said in lieu of an answer. She looked through them. “Well, who are you looking for?”

He thought for a moment. “Friend’s birthday. He likes roses.” She nodded, before pointing out a pretty looking bouquet. “This one has roses and sunflowers. Does he like those?”

Ghost didn’t know, but from what little he did know about flowers, he knew that sunflowers would turn towards the sun, yearning for any bit of light from its rays.

They reminded him of how he acted around Johnny, always looking for his next fix of his sunshine’s attention.

He nodded. “That’ll do.” He picked it up and bought it, praying to whatever being that may exist that Soap would like them. They smelled pleasant enough, at least.

When he walked into the pub, the others hadn’t arrived yet. He’d already texted Gaz that he’d be coming separately, and would save them a table.

He tucked the bouquet in the booth seat next to him nervously when he saw them enter. Gaz ordered them a round and a cake, crowing at the uninterested waiter that it was his friend’s birthday just to piss Soap off.

Price got Soap a nice bottle of Scotch, and Gaz had laughed when he saw it because he’d gotten him the same thing. Soap didn’t mind, just grinned. “I get two bottles of the good stuff, why would I be mad?

Ghost gave him the sketchbook and pencils a bit nervously, but his nerves were soothed when his face lit up. “Oh wow! These are good supplies.” He grinned. Ghost touched the bouquet next to him lightly, having second thoughts, before sucking it up and handing them to him.

The table fell quiet, and Soap looked at him with wide eyes

“For me?” He asked softly, holding them so gently they could be made of glass. Ghost nodded, feeling really dumb all of a sudden. He felt a weight lift from his chest when Soap beamed at him.

“You remembered! Christ, this is too muchI was so sloshed when I said I wanted flowers, but… thanks. They’re beautiful. And- and they’re roses… like I said…” Soap was smiling so widely it made Ghost’s heart hurt.

“I love them, Lt.” Ghost had to fight back the disappointment that came with the title. It was his sergeant’s birthday, not his boyfriend’s.

Gaz and Price settled down a little upon hearing Soap had asked for flowers specifically, though Price did shoot Ghost a knowing look.

The rest of the time was business as usual, drinking and laughing with friends until they inevitably got drunk and had to go home when the bartenders cut them off.

Ghost walked Soap back to his room. The other man was so drunk he was just mumbling under his breath.

As Ghost eased him into his bed, the Scot spoke up. “Thanks for the flowers, Lt, Really like em. Specially from ye.” He smiled before knocking out. Ghost stood there for a few minutes before sighing quietly to himself and placing the bouquet on the nightstand next to Soap.

For the rest of the week, Soap was in a significantly good mood. Watching him interact with the recruits, Ghost found himself smiling softly. If a simple bouquet of flowers made him so happy that he was beaming every day, then Ghost would give him all the flowers his heart desired.

And the gestures would never lose their meaning; no, Ghost would put just as much thought and heart into every one, just like he did the first time.

In any universe, he would give him flowers just to see him smile.

From a church altar to a gravestone.

The sunflower and his rose.

[randooffthestreet99]

Day 18: Secret

Original image:

[randooffthestreet99]

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I-

Oh my god

It's them 🥺

[randooffthestreet99]

GUYS???? I'VE BEEN ON TUMBLR FOR ONE (1) YEAR NOW!! woag. That's a long time. Thank you to my moots who have supported me and my art/writing and made this whole experience fun :3

@meimeikyu @shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck @0rang3sod4 @psycho-chair @mintflavoredfemurs @confusedsnowpatch

[randooffthestreet99]

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My first time drawing Ghost!

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Day 3 of drawing every day

Original image under cut!

[randooffthestreet99]

Reblog if you write fanfic and would be totally down with your followers coming into you askbox and talking to you about your fic

[randooffthestreet99]

Do you guys think that Cross likes flowers? Do you think that the first time he sees them he's revolted? Because the colors are so imperfect it makes him want to throw up? Do you think he cries when he sees them a second time when he realizes that they're beautiful? Do you think he starts to grow flowers in his room? Do you think maybe one day one of Killer's cats breaks his little pot of flowers, the color he was never allowed to have and he cries pitifully over that loss? Do you th

[randooffthestreet99]

Guess who's been on a Cult of the Lamb kick??

Bonus Narinder doodle