#knew my deaf studies certificate would come in handy for something

[lushrue]

ghost and soap who gets honorably discharged after sustaining service-related deafness

he’d stood just a little too close to a charge blast. on the outside, he was fine; not a scrape or bruise on him, just some dust and debris from the explosion. but the ringing in his ears was sharper than it’d ever been, and it didn’t go away the way it normally did. he saw ghost reaching down to help him up, shouting something at him. it was like someone had put the world on mute. there was the muffled sound of gunfire, but even that was drowned out by the shrill tones in his head.

he was subjected to a whole battery of tests after that mission. things shoved in his ears, sitting in soundproof booths and watching the look in the doctor’s eyes when he didn’t hear the sound stimulus they presented. he’d had temporary hearing loss before. it was inevitable when one worked as close to explosives as he did. this just felt different. final, permanent.

he’d dug his heels in when it came to hearing aids. although the doctors and simon tried to assure him that they could make them discreet, even the high-powered ones he’d now need, johnny couldn’t shake the image of his grandda out of his head. the man had practically gone deaf in his old age, and hearing aids were the first of many devices he’d had to use to function daily. it meant fragility, decline, worthlessness. soap was still in his prime, goddammit. and he’d sooner die than wear a hearing aid.

their first morning together in johnny’s flat was the first time he realized just how different everything would be now. golden sun pressed at the seam of his eyelids, waking him gently instead of the shrill beep of an alarm clock. he smelled bacon frying, but couldn’t hear it sizzling. he knew it was simon in the kitchen, that he’d moved in and taken leave to help johnny adjust. but without being able to hear his soft humming or the weight of his steps on the linoleum, could he really be sure? he stepped cautiously out of the bedroom, only feeling the slightest relief when he saw simon’s face.

simon waved hello, and johnny thought he saw him say “good morning,” but he stopped halfway through the words. the sadness in his eyes when he realized johnny couldn’t hear him was a look soap never wanted to see again. “not hungry,” he muttered, scowling as he retreated back to the safety of his bed.

it was isolating, johnny realized a month in. simon could only communicate with him through writing, sometimes shouting on a good day. they’d tried to go out to the shops a few times, but johnny found he now loathed it. he could see people talking around him, could hear the sounds of a supermarket as clear as a bell in his head, but it never reached his ears. the whole world was moving around him and he felt left behind, left out.

simon tried his best, he really did. he tried turning captions on for the TV, urging johnny to read his lips, taking him to meetings for other veterans who’d been discharged with injuries. none of it seemed to bring the light back into his eyes. the sunshine he knew and loved was fading, wilting under the weight of everything he couldn’t say. it wasn’t until he was prowling internet forums, trying to find any other ways to help the man he loved, when the obvious solution came to him. sign language.

simon immediately threw himself into it, picking up the alphabet and everyday signs with relative ease. while johnny slept or stared absentmindedly at the telly, simon was watching videos of BSL, absorbing everything like a sponge. it was all for johnny, every bit of it. the thought of the twinkle in johnny’s eye returning was enough to keep simon’s determination burning bright.

a few months later, simon sat down beside johnny on the sofa, a pad of paper and pen in his hand. he tapped johnny’s arm to get his attention, pointing down at the paper before starting to scribble on it. “want to try something new?” it read in simon’s scrawl. johnny huffed, jaw clenching. they’d tried countless things and all of them had left him feeling worse than before. still, there was a hopefulness in simon’s eyes, an eagerness that johnny didn’t have the heart to shoot down. he grumbled, nodding his assent.

simon sat aside the pen and paper, motioning for johnny to keep his eyes on him. then he began to gesture. his lips moved as he signed, mouthing the words so that johnny could see their meaning. “i,” simon said, pointing to himself. johnny mimicked him, finger pressing against his chest. “love.” simon folded his hands over his chest, pressing them against his heart. johnny did the same, swallowing thickly. simon had done all this for him, learned another language just to tell him he loved him. johnny didn’t need prompting for the last sign. he pointed to simon, taking his lover’s hands and kissing his knuckles. “teach me,” he said, and simon nodded.

signing became their everyday routine. they looked up words they didn’t know, creating their own signs for things that were too hard to spell. suddenly, the world didn’t feel so isolating anymore. johnny could interact, comment, express himself again. the roadblocks weren’t gone, but they were easier to climb over now. simon had helped him find his voice, even if it was quieter than it used to be.