Chapter Text
just. the size difference between them. meaning the fucking sweater paws. i know its not that drastic but he would be swimming in fabric. and hes curled up on ghosts cot. face buried in ghosts pillow. not even under the blanket, as if he hadn't meant to fall asleep.
ghost had been gone on a mission for a week or so because it ran long. and no, soap is not worried, (haud yer wheesht, gaz.) but hes been having a shit time sleeping so he decided to poke around ghosts room, because when else does he get the chance? ghost had promised to buy him a round last week but didn't because he was sent out, so he owes him anyways.
he, frustratingly, doesn't find anything interesting,
(even though truly, any kind of peek into simon riley absolutely thrills soap.)
so he had thrown himself onto the cot out of disappointment. and truly he didn't mean to fall asleep, he was just tired.
(he was too anxious to get any sleep.)
and it was warm in the room.
(it was the hoodie.)
ghosts cot was comfier than his own, the prick.
(his bed smelled like him and it made him stupidly relaxed)
anyways, how would he had known that this was the time ghost was coming back, anyways? he should've been given at LEAST 30 minutes of warning beforehand.
ignoring the fact that he had been asleep for hours at that point.
whatever.
the point is, its not his fault that he fell asleep there and was woken by ghost himself running his fingers through his hair. its not his fault that he had missed the feeling so much that he leaned into it without even thinking. and okay, so maybe when ghost scratched his scalp and called his name to wake him up he lit up like a fuckin' christmas tree- he was just glad he was finally going to get that fucking drink he was owed.
it has nothing to do with the uncharacteristic softness he could see in ghosts exhausted eyes.
(its not uncharacteristic around soap. ghost never looks at anyone else that way, but those close to him can see how frequent it happens.)
absolutely nothing.
(it was everything.)