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Clattering objects smashing against the ground. Heavy breaths. More and more relentless pacing.
Soap couldn’t stop to think, let alone breathe. It was utterly suffocating. The air in the room way too thick to breathe through- He knew it was some sort of panic. Some sort of breakdown.
What even triggered it? He didn’t know. That was a lie, actually. He did know. Apparently, hearing about someone having a happy childhood was enough to make him feel like that child again. Always agonizing over everyone else and what they got to have. Jealousy and longing mixing into that ache of wishing he could have a normal, loving family.
The Scotsman growled in anger, running his hands over his tussled Mohawk. He thought he was calming down. Until his fingers snagged around the chains around his neck. The stupid, stupid cross. Instead of ripping the damned thing off and regretting it later, he turned. He punched at the wall. Hard enough to make his knuckles burn in agony. He hissed, his anger cooling enough for him to pause. He stumbled back until his knees hit the back of his bed. Sinking into the mattress, he put his head in his hands. His mind still in a frenzy. The turmoil almost never ending. He was suffocating in the agony of breathing in and out. In and out. Crying always made it worse. He wouldn’t DARE to cry-
“Johnny?” His head snapped up so fast it hurt. “Simon…” he glanced around the tattered room. Fuck. “Hey…”
“Johnny, what…” a hesitant step into the room. Roles reversed. Predator feeling like the prey, for once. “I-I was just bein’ stupid. I’m fine.” He forced a smile, “I’ve got it under control”.
“Johnny…”
“I’m fine,” he really wasn’t.
“Johnny. Come on. Talk to me.” Soap wanted to kill him for approaching. For kneeling down in front of him and staring up at him like he was some…pitiful child.
“Why’re you crying, huh?” He hadn’t even noticed the tears. His breath hitched, and suddenly, he was hunched over. Desperately fighting off sobs. Anger and guilt mixing in a rage-filled cocktail. “I dunno. I hate myself right now…” The growl in his voice was so anguished, that he could actually see Simon’s expression crumble from behind the mask. Soap couldn’t even be mad when strong arms wrapped around him. Holding him close and tight, like he was something precious. Like he didn’t deserve to think about himself that way. He sobbed into Ghost’s shoulder. Well, screamed quietly. But he wouldn’t admit that outloud.
“Why- why couldn’t I just be loved. The way I was.” The words came out like a statement, more than a question. The response was a bone crushing grip around his body. “Oh, Johnny…” Ghost didn’t give him an answer. There was no answer. No false comfort. No speculation. Just a silent ache with a painful truth. One that simply transcended an explanation. Soap was still seething with rage, and shivering from the cold sting in his chest. But at least Ghost was there.
Even if Soap wasn’t hugging him back this time.