Chapter Text
Soap lifts his glass toward Ghost with a sloppy little grin. “LT.,” he says, the title stretched and softened by whisky. “To not gettin’ blown up.”Ghost clinks his glass against Soap’s. “High standards you’ve got there.”Soap laughs loud, then quiets again. His cheeks are pink; his mohawk’s a mess. Ghost pretends he’s not watching all of that too closely. “Y’know,” Soap says, leaning his elbow on the table as though it might escape him if he doesn’t pin it down, “you’re a good lookin’ bloke, ev'n if I saw'r it for a sec'nd there.”
Ghost stills. Soap, unfortunately, does not. He does not stop babbling. “I mean— I always knew. But the mask? Kinda makes it worse. Leaves me imaginin’ things.” He takes another sip, misses his mouth a little, wipes it with the back of his hand. Ghost’s voice stays low, even, but his pulse trips. “You’re pissed, Johnny.”“Only a wee bit,” Soap says, fingers coming together to show the tiniest possible margin.
Ghost doesn’t have a good comeback for that. Not when Soap’s smile is soft and honest, not when his eyes keep darting toward Ghost’s mouth like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Soap leans forward conspiratorially. “You ever take the mask off in front of someone?” Ghost blinks and clears his throat. “That a request?” Soap’s eyebrows jump. “Maybe?”There’s a long beat — long enough for Soap to blink, once, slowly — and then Ghost nudges his glass forward, taking the smallest sip to hide the way his mouth almost curls.
Soap's eyes suddenly widened, begging. "c'mon LT...it must be so tiring to wear that big bad skull...let me wear it for a minute...take it off your shoulders for a minute..." “You’re trouble when you drink,” Ghost mutters. Soap beams. “Aye. But I’m your trouble, eh?”
Ghost looks away, steadying himself. “We’ll talk in the morning,” he says. Soap nods, exaggerated, content. “Aye. But you’ll still be handsome in the mornin’, Lt. Can’t drink that away.”Ghost is grateful for the mask because it hides the way his ears burn. “…Finish your drink, Johnny.” Soap grins, victorious.
Ghost reaches for the table, desperate for something — anything — to anchor himself before Soap says another outrageous thing that’ll lodge itself in his chest for the rest of the night. His hand closes around a magazine. Perfect. Paper. Words. A distraction enough. He flips it up, glances at the cover—
—and stops cold.
Soap squints at the glossy page. “…Lt,” he murmurs, swaying slightly, “is that—”
Ghost closes it immediately with a thwack.
A Playboy. Of course. Because the universe is cruel and has a sense of humor.
He considers setting it down. He considers throwing it across the room. He settles for lowering it very, very slowly. Soap leans in, eyes wide and delighted. “Never pegged you for a gentleman’s-mag kinda guy.” Ghost doesn’t move. “I’m not.” “Then why’re you holdin’ it like it’s intel from Laswell?” Ghost tightens his grip on the magazine. “Because I needed a distraction.” Soap’s grin spreads, dimple deepening. “From what?” Ghost regrets breathing. “…You.”
Soap’s whole face lights up — not with smugness this time, but something softer, hazier, made warm by alcohol and affection he’s not sober enough to hide. “Aw, Lt,” he says, tilting his head like a flirting puppy, “am I that distractin’?” Ghost flips the magazine open again, pretending to read. It does not help. At all.
Soap watches him with the fascination of someone who has realized his commanding officer might actually be flustered. He points at a random centerfold. “She pretty?” Ghost doesn’t look. “Don’t care.” “Who d’you care about then?”
Ghost closes the magazine. “Johnny.”
Soap blinks. “Aye?”
“You’re going to make me burn this place down.”
Soap laughs, bright and tipsy, and Ghost feels something tug at him. Ghost sets the Playboy down, face-first, like he’s putting it in time-out. “Let’s get you back to your room before you embarrass both of us,” he mutters.
Ghost barely has time to exhale after that last sentence. Soap is still giggling into his glass, cheeks red, shoulders loose, leaning too close and too warm. Ghost is contemplating the logistics of hauling his Sergeant across the barracks without letting him flirt with everyone they pass—
When the door to the bar swings open.
Ghost tenses. Soap doesn’t notice. But the voices that drift in are unmistakable. “—Qué carajo, Rudy, you said this place would be dead.” “It is dead, Alejandro,” Rudy sighs. “Except for them.” Ghost lifts his head. Soap slowly turns, squinting at the figures walking in. Rudy and Alejandro stop mid-step. “…We thought you old bonkers stayed in Mexico,” Soap blurts, slurring but joyful, waving at them like they’re old drinking buddies entering his wedding.
Alejandro raises both brows. “Las Almas.” He mutters it like a curse. “And Rudy needed escape too.” Rudy lifts a gentle shoulder. “We heard you two survived. We wanted to say felicidades.” Soap beams, wobbling. “We’re celebratin’! Not gettin’ blown up!” Alejandro’s eyes slide to Ghost. Begging the silent question, "the fuck happened to him?"
Ghost stares back, deadpan. “Don’t.” Alejandro snorts. Soap, however, lights up with the energy of a golden retriever spotting friends at the dog park. He stands up too fast, sways, and Ghost automatically grips his arm, steadying him before he faceplants. “RUDY!” Soap cheers. “ALEJANDRO! Look—” He gestures broadly to Ghost with both hands, as if revealing a prize. “My LT’s handsome.”
Ghost’s soul leaves his body.
Alejandro drags a hand down his face. “Madre de Dios…” Rudy tries—tries—to maintain composure, but his mouth twitches. “He is drunk, ¿no?” Ghost mutters, “Catastrophically.” Soap pats Ghost’s chest with both palms, missing entirely on the first attempt. “He doesn’t wanna let me try on his mask.” Rudy chokes. Alejandro coughs into his fist.
Alejandro steps closer, clapping Ghost on the shoulder with a grin that is entirely too knowing. “Hermano… you need help carrying him?” “No,” Ghost says instantly. “Yes,” Soap says at the same time. Rudy nods, amused. “We can walk with you both. Just to be sure he doesn’t wander into traffic.” Soap gasps, deeply offended. “I would never wander into traffic.” “You wandered behind the bar five minutes ago,” Ghost mutters.
Soap opens his mouth to argue, decides against it, and instead leans fully against Ghost’s side, arms hooked around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Alejandro murmurs to Rudy in Spanish, just loud enough: “Son adorables.” Rudy nods. “Terriblemente.”
Ghost tries to ignore them. Because Soap, head tucked against his shoulder now, sighs dreamily. “LT…” Ghost steels himself. “What.” “You’re still handsome.”
Rudy actually laughs. Alejandro claps once. “Vámonos. Before he proposes.” Ghost groans into his mask. The night air hits them the moment they step outside — cool, a little sharp, enough to make Soap shiver and press closer.
Ghost stiffens. Alejandro pretends not to notice while Rudy walks ahead, holding the door, doing his absolute best not to grin like an idiot. Soap drapes himself over Ghost’s side, his arm looped through Ghost’s like they’re going for a romantic stroll instead of trying to transport one drunk Sergeant safely across base. Ghost mutters, “Watch your step.”
“I am,” Soap says proudly, immediately tripping over his own boot. Ghost catches him by the collar. Alejandro snorts behind them. They start walking, slow and uneven, with Ghost taking most of Soap’s weight whether he likes it or not. Soap hums something that could be a song or could be nonsense. Hard to tell. “Y’know,” Soap murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice warm and drowsy, “I’d follow you anywhere, LT.” Ghost almost misses a step.
Rudy makes a quiet sound that might be a suppressed laugh. Alejandro whispers, “Dios mío…” Soap keeps going, oblivious to the emotional shrapnel he’s dropping. “‘S weird,” he mumbles into Ghost’s shoulder. “Feel safe with you. Even when you’re mad at me. Even when you do that stare. The one with the eyes. The… the burny ones.” “I don’t have ‘burny ones,’” Ghost says. “You do,” Soap insists, poking Ghost’s chest weakly. “Hot eyes.”
Alejandro coughs so hard he has to look away. Ghost’s voice comes out lower than he intends. “Johnny.” “Mm?” “Stop talking.” Soap nods sagely. “Aye. I’ll be quiet.” He is quiet for precisely four seconds.
Then—
“LT?” Ghost exhales. “What, Johnny?” “Can I hold your hand?” Alejandro chokes on air. Rudy presses a fist to his mouth. Ghost feels his brain short-circuit. “No.”
Soap pouts. “Why nooooot?”
“Because you’re drunk.”
“‘M not that drunk.”
“You called me handsome five times.”
“Six,” Soap corrects proudly. Then pauses. “…Seven.”
Ghost refuses to react. Alejandro leans in to Rudy. “He’s in love with him.” Rudy nods. “Since day one.” Ghost pretends he didn’t hear that. They reach the hallway of their quarters. Ghost maneuvers Soap toward his door, but Soap has decided the floor is lava and clings tighter. “Noooo,” Soap says, clutching Ghost’s arm with both hands. “Stay with me.” Ghost’s breath hitches.
Rudy steps forward gently. “Johnny, amigo, let’s get you inside, ¿sí?” Soap shakes his head like a stubborn toddler. “LT carries me.” Ghost blinks. “No, I do not.” Soap wraps his arms around Ghost’s waist. Alejandro turns away, muttering, “No puedo con esto…” Ghost tries to peel him off. Soap tightens his grip.
“Johnny.”
“No.”
“Johnny.”
“You’re warm,” Soap whines. “And big. And comfortable.” Ghost is seconds from melting into the floor. Rudy sighs softly, smiling. “Ghost… might be easier if you just take him in.” Ghost looks at the three of them—Soap clinging, Rudy gentle, Alejandro pretending to examine the ceiling—and resigns himself to his fate.
“…Fine.”
Soap beams, victorious. Ghost guides him into the room. Soap immediately sits on the bed, still holding Ghost’s sleeve like it’s a lifeline. Alejandro nods approvingly. “He trusts you.” Ghost looks at Soap. Soap looks back—sleepy, rosy, soft. “‘Course I trust him,” Soap murmurs. “He’s my LT.” Something tightens in Ghost’s chest.
Rudy tips his head. “We will leave you two alone.” Alejandro drags him out. “Buenas noches, pareja.” The door closes.
Soap pulls lightly on Ghost’s sleeve.
“…Lie down with me?” he asks, voice small.
Ghost swallows.