#did soap grow up in the rain? yeah definitely. but after las almas?? i think maybe he’s not that into it anymore

[soaqrudyz]

they’re in the rec room one dreary afternoon, rain is pouring outside, shaking the walls of the base, and all soap really wanted was a cigarette. he’d been stressed, needlessly, helplessly, and now his one healthy means of escapism is gone, too. he’s about ready to explode, pacing the room like a caged animal, muttering senseless complaints and half baked sentences under his breath.

he’s startled out of his back and forth pace by gaz’s hand on his chest. a snarl finds its way to his lips and he has to fight to keep from spewing all the nasty, venomous thoughts that lay behind his lips.

“you need to chill out, mate” gaz drawls, pushing him ever so slightly backwards. his feet follow, trusting, even through his sour disposition.

“think i don’t know that?” he snaps, “i fuckin’ can’t.”

“that’s why i’m here to help. you’re bringing the whole base down, and you’ll wear a hole in the floor with all that stomping around.”

they walk back until soap is knocked onto the ratty sofa that price found god knows where. gaz maneuvers soap’s head to rest on the arm, his muscles wound tight despite being stretched out. he’s angry. angry and confused and he didn’t fucking like the rain, why did it always have to rain?

“ghost.” gaz calls, and soap notices his looming presence for the first time that day. which was a little shocking, considering the fact that soap could (and had, he’d won 70 quid off the stupid bet) pick ghost out in a crowd blindfolded just from the feeling of his stare alone.

soap realizes he might’ve been more out of it than he realized. the embarrassment only makes his blood run hotter.

“this some sort of intervention?” he growled, hands balled into tight fists.

gaz rolls his eyes and leaves, muttering a quiet “good luck with that.” to ghost and patting his shoulder as he passed.

his brain was a mess, he needed to get back up, needed to do something, fucking anything. the restlessness makes his fingers twitch, makes him burn from the inside out, he’s so god damn angry he could burst into flames.

and then ghost flops down right on top of him, and everything but the roiling thunder outside goes quiet. ghost is a big guy, pure muscle with a (very attractive) bit of fat around his middle. he was twice, maybe three times soap’s weight, no matter how much bulk he was putting on.

he’s overwhelmed by the man. his hands and legs are completely pinned. the weight on his chest forces him to take deeper breaths, which, in turn, make his tense muscles relax. the smell of ghost’s shampoo and detergent makes him dizzy, the soft cotton of his balaclava rubs against his cheek, and soap is mortified to find out he’s getting sleepy.

his eyes try to close, but he jerks himself awake each time. ghost is warm. like a big fuzzy blanket fresh out of the dyer, and really after the day he had, who could blame him for letting go for a minute?

“feels nice..” he slurs, eyes slipping shut again, but this time he doesn’t bother prying them back open.

“go to sleep, johnny.” ghost sighs, an exasperated little thing, and soap can feel the vibration of his voice all the way down to the tips of his toes.

he listens, if not only because it was raining outside and he couldn’t smoke a cigarette.