Chapter Text
I was just an only child of the universe
And then I found you
The first time Soap saw him, or rather, didn’t see him, he was 10 years old.
He watched enviously as his older cousins darted into the forest at the edge of his gran’s property, leaving Soap behind to beg his mum to let him go with them. He bounced on his heels and tugged uncontrollably at the hem of her blouse to get her attention with an annoyingly drawn-out,
“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeas-”
It may have been hesitancy, annoyance, or a combination of both, but his mother had winced and stared down at him, mouth already forming the word her son did not want to hear.
Soap had interjected before she could even utter a consonant, resuming his pleading by reminding her of his age and how he ‘wasn’t a little kid anymore’. She gave him a long, doubtful expression before relenting with a sigh. Soap had turned and taken off for the woods without a second thought, waving back at his mum with a shouted promise that he would be careful.
He was not careful.
With a few years on him in both age and athletic experience, Soap was outmatched by his older, rowdy cousins. As much as he wanted to keep up with them, he didn’t stand a chance in comparison to their strength and height.
However, it did little to dissuade him from trying.
Racing after them, he watched his cousins bound through the small trail their grandad had opened through the brush so they could explore and play without the risk of getting lost. Still wet from rain the day before, the small legion of assorted boots and sneakers splashed through the puddles as the boys made their way through the dense woodland.
They hooted and hollered, one of them noticing Soap in the distance and waving for him to catch up. With steeled determination, he planted his sneakers harder into the mud underneath him and dashed after them.
The boys further ahead diverted slightly from the trail, obviously interested in a large tree trunk that had fallen over the creek. They used it as a makeshift bridge to cut across and hurtled over it effortlessly, paying no mind to how high it rested above the valley below, littered with jagged rocks and a stream of rushing water from the previous rainfall.
Mimicking his cousins without a second thought, Soap followed right after them. Not quite able to process ‘physics’ in relativity to ‘danger’ just yet, he didn’t slow his speed as his shoes hit the tree trunk and he raced across it. Lacking the older boy’s finer-tuned balance and perception skills, Soap failed to understand the potential catastrophe that could be:
(muddy shoes) + (wet bark) + (excessive speed) x (dangerous height)
He realized his mistake too late when he felt the sole of his sneaker slip on the bark and his vision suddenly blurred, leaving no time to react as he became fully aware of exactly how terrifyingly high up he was. Unable to save his footing and stop himself from tripping, Soap closed his eyes and braced himself as his stomach dropped with the sudden descent. Though he wasn’t high enough for the fall to be fatal, he expected at least a couple of fractured bones and a ruined spring break.
His body tensed and he felt a cold pressure squeeze him, anticipating the painful impact he’d be making with the rocks and chilled water at any second.
Except, it never came.
Soap cautiously opened his eyes and looked around. He expected to be on the ground by now, but not like this. Instead of being sprawled in the creek bed, he stood several feet above it, both feet planted on the tree trunk as if it never happened.
He swiveled his head to look below, above, and behind him, assuming that one of his cousins had managed to snatch him before he could fall. Confused, he found himself to be completely alone, and a cacophony of rowdy voices in the distance confirmed that not only had they not helped him, but they were entirely unaware of his predicament in the first place.
Soap blinked before he snapped back to the present and (carefully) scrambled off the trunk to the other side of the creek. He glanced around again in search of the mysterious person who had saved him, but finally gave up, deciding that perhaps he had never fallen in the first place and imagined the entire thing. Unconvinced but unwilling to give it much more thought, he took off through the trees to play with his cousins.
…
Soap had always felt aware of a presence, ever since. It wasn’t as if he could see anything, but rather it felt as if the shadows were alive, always watching. However, his naive mind didn’t quite understand that this wasn’t typical and the presence never felt threatening, so he assumed that everyone experienced the same feeling and thought nothing of it.
By 12 years old, he did begin to think it was strange that he couldn’t seem to get hurt. He’d trip and his knees would smack the pavement, only to get up without a scratch on them. One of the boys at school had severely misjudged his throw while they were playing with a ball, and the group had watched in horror as it bounced off Soap’s face with a resounding, painful-sounding smack. Soap though, hadn’t felt a thing, and gave a thumbs-up before they all nervously laughed it off in relief.
He chalked it up to being really, really lucky, and his mum chalked it up to the ‘hard-headed’ nature of boys.
It took a significantly more terrifying instance for him to start to believe that something was up.
Brazen and stupid at 14 years old, Soap decided a helmet or any other form of protective gear was unnecessary for the stunt he intended to perform on his bike after watching one too many BMX TV specials.
Eyebrows pinched and chewing on his lip in concentration, he inspected his makeshift ramp one final time and gave it a swift kick to check its sturdiness. Finding it to be sufficient, he snatched his bike from where it lay on the pavement and got into position.
Planting a shoe on the pedal and fearlessly staring down his target, he set his jaw with determination before surging forward on the bicycle, accelerating rapidly toward the questionable-looking assemblage of objects from the garage sitting in the middle of the street.
In a predictable sequence of events, the 2 x 4 board haphazardly secured by gallons of paint shifted when the front tire made contact, and it buckled and twisted as Soap’s bike mounted off it. The blunder caused the bike, and Soap with it, to careen off the ‘ramp’ at a wild angle, flying through the air at a speed that would make it impossible to correct and land back on the tires.
Before Soap can even process what’s happening, he feels something firm and cold grasp his neck, almost like a dog scruffing a puppy, before he finds himself with both feet on the ground. He stood there frozen before he flinched at the resonating CRASH his bike made as it clattered to the concrete 20 feet away, where he should also be skidding across the pavement right alongside it.
Soap stared at the heap of metal, watching the front tire as it spun aimlessly while suspended in the air. He’d always been able to write off these strange incidents as a stroke of luck, but this?
He was coming up short of an explanation for why he wasn’t currently limping away from the scene with a serious case of road rash and a bruised ego.
After years of unexplained encounters and the feeling of someone always watching over his shoulder, it was time to search for answers.
…
Google had proved to be wildly unhelpful as his journey into communication with the supernatural came up fruitless.
Soap had felt like a dumbass as he sat in a dark room pretending to feel an ounce of movement in his hands as he attempted to use the cheap Ouija board he had bought. Ultimately, it had been a waste of time.
As was the séance, which had been a colossal failure when he clumsily knocked one of the lit candles right onto the carpet, causing a panicked Soap to divebomb to put it out and clean the spilled wax before his mum could find out.
He should’ve damn well known the EVP recorder he ordered would be a scam, but desperate for answers, he tried it anyway. Predictably so, the results had been just as disappointing as the others, leaving Soap frustrated and prepared to give it up.
As he sat on his bed one night and reflected on his various attempts at coercing whatever entity was meddling in his life to show itself, he came to a sudden realization.
Why is he making this so complicated? Why not just…ask?
Soap jumped off the mattress and approached his desk in the corner of the room. He rummaged through one of the drawers before pulling out his worn journal and snatching an ink pen from his stash.
He flipped through the vast collection of drawings and musings from throughout his life before landing on a blank page. Soap briefly scribbled something across the paper with a determined grin before scrambling back to his bed, leaving the journal wide open in the center of the desk.
Squirming with hope-filled anticipation, he finally managed to drift to sleep, wondering if this curious presence would finally respond to him.
…
The next morning, Soap could hardly contain his excitement as he rocketed out of bed to take a peek at the journal, hoping that he would find some form of reply sprawled across the page next to his own writing.
Unfortunately, the page looked just as he had left it the night before, and he chewed on his lip in frustrated dismay at yet another failed attempt.
Never one to give up, Soap pondered on it as he went about his morning routine to get ready for school. He’d yet to consider what this being could be. Early on, he assumed it was some kind of guardian angel due to the nature of the encounters, but the way it always seemed to hide in the shadows…was it something else? He wracked his brain, thinking of poltergeists from horror movies and how they could interact with physical objects…could this be a spirit?
‘If I were a ghost…how would I want to communicate?’ Soap wondered as he brushed his teeth.
Maybe he doesn’t want to be asked 20 questions about who he is and how he died. Maybe he doesn’t want to be filmed or recorded like a spectacle. Maybe he’s just lonely. (Soap’s not sure when he started thinking of this entity as a ‘him’ instead of an ‘it’, but something about it just felt right.)
Now that Soap thinks about it, demanding someone to interact with you and answer personal questions right off the bat isn’t the best way to make friends.
With that thought churning over and over in his head, Soap tentatively approached the journal one more time. He picked up the ink pen and hastily scribbled something else onto the page before he grabbed his bookbag and darted out the door.
…
Soap sits at the desk, staring slack-jawed at what he sees in front of him.
On the page where he had drawn a large 3 x 3 grid with an ‘X’ in the top left corner, in the center of the grid was a scribbled ‘O’ that he had not put there. If it wasn’t for the fact that his mum had been at work for the entirety of the time he had gone to school and back, he would wonder if she was the one who had put it there.
‘Out of everything I’ve tried…’ Soap asked himself with a twinge of fascination, ‘...a children’s game is what got your attention?’
He marked an ‘X’ in the left middle box and scurried to bed, awaiting a response.
…
Sure enough, the following morning he finds another ‘O’ drawn on the grid, this time in the lower left corner. Grinning with delight, Soap took his turn and scrawled his own mark in the top center. He realized he must have been too excited to strategize when he looked later that evening to find an ‘O’ in the top right corner and a victorious diagonal strike through the three consecutive symbols.
He blinked in shock before a small smile tugged on his lips and he quickly wrote a message underneath the finished game.
“Did I just lose tic-tac-toe to a ghost?”
When he woke in the middle of the night and checked the journal, his knees nearly buckled when he saw the scribbled response that was legible, but it was obvious that whoever had put it there was not accustomed to writing.
“And I’m out of practice, too.”
Soap grinned madly, not only was this someone, -something?- finally willing to communicate with him, but it appeared he had a sense of humor.
He drew another grid and wrote on the same page,
“Best two out of three?”
By the end of the next evening, their second match had ended in a draw, and Soap returned to his room to find that Ghost had won the third, making him the official victor. Underneath it, Soap found a note.
“What is a ghost’s favorite game?”
Soap stared at it for a moment in confusion before writing out a response, unsure of what exactly was being asked.
“What is it?”
He always assumed that the spirit picked up his pen and wrote with it while he was absent, but he was proven otherwise when dark ink began miraculously bleeding across the pages. Soap watched with startled disbelief as the letters appeared right before his very eyes. Once the words were fully formed, Soap chuckled with bewilderment as he read the note his new friend had left for him.
“Hide and shriek”
…
It started with games and stupid jokes, but Soap managed to find out several things about ‘Ghost’ along the way.
One of the first was that Ghost could hear him, so most days Soap would find a quiet area away from prying ears and talk to him, letting the spirit form his responses in the journal. Afraid that he would spook - for a lack of a better word - his new friend, Soap mostly blabbered on about himself instead of asking for information, despite how badly he wanted to pry. Their discussions became a habit until finally they talked each day, Soap finding it to be a welcome reprieve from his constantly arguing parents and stacks of homework.
Eventually, though, Ghosted warmed up to him and began answering his questions. The only problem is that even he didn’t seem to know who or what he was.
“What’s your name?” ‘Dunno.’ “Are you a spirit?” ‘I think so.’
“Why do you always protect me?”
He didn’t get an answer for that one.
Soap backed off slightly after that- Ghost had become one of his only friends and the last thing he wanted to do was push him away because he was too nosey.
Through his teenage years, his interactions with Ghost only grew until he considered him to be his closest friend, and by age 16, he had managed to retrieve snippets and small details that helped him better understand the spirit. It had become clear to him that most of the time, Ghost’s dismissal of his questions wasn’t because he was refusing to answer them, but rather because he couldn’t. Whatever Ghost was, he seemed to have limited knowledge of it.
“Were you a human? Y’know..at one point?” Soap had asked his empty bedroom one day while sitting cross-legged on his rug as he ate his lunch, keeping his voice low so that his parents wouldn’t question who he was talking to.
‘Dunno.’
Soap frowned at the journal despite having long grown accustomed to the one-word responses from Ghost whenever he questioned his past. He opened his mouth to snark that his friend sounded like a broken record but paused when he saw more letters begin to form on the page.
‘I think I was.’
It wasn’t much. But it was something. Soap popped the last bit of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed on it before placing his empty plate on the rug. His eyebrows furrowed in thought as he spoke around a mouthful.
“You don’t remem-”
“Don’t do that, Johnny. You’ll choke.”
Soap rolled his eyes at the hastily written words and barked a laugh at the sharp line Ghost scratched under the word ‘choke’ for dramatic emphasis, which ironically, almost caused him to choke. Not wanting to cause his friend unnecessary worry, he paused to swallow his food before continuing.
Johnny. The nickname had started roughly a year ago to Soap’s displeasure, but he found he had grown fond of it.
“So, you don’t remember yer life? Any idea why?” He spoke up, finishing his question.
There was a long pause, and just as Soap thought he wasn’t going to get an answer, he saw the words begin to form.
“Maybe there’s nothing worth remembering.”
It struck a chord of sadness in Soap, that Ghost thought he may have lived a life that was undeserving of memories. At that moment, the puzzle pieces clicked and revealed a new theory that Soap couldn’t shake.
Had this person lived a life so short and void of happiness that his spirit had reached out to find purpose? Had he been drawn to someone he could look after, to protect from the same fate he had suffered, desperate to watch another soul live the life he was robbed of?
They were questions Soap figured he would never truly have an answer to. Regardless, his intuition told him that something about this speculation felt right. Determination setting in, Soap decided that no matter who or what Ghost was, or why he was here-
-If there was any possibility that he was on the search for a better life…
Soap would help him find it.
…
At 17 years old, Soap fastened the top button on his coat to protect as much of his torso as he could from the bitter wind. He stood on the beach, watching the ice-cold waves roll in and stop right at the tip of his boots. It was hardly the time of year to be at the beach, but the early winter chill did little to stop Soap’s urge to explore, and the sunset was just as beautiful as it was any other season.
Ever since his epiphany a year prior, he had been resolute in his ambition to see and do as much as he could so that Ghost could experience it alongside him. It had started with bicycle rides, traveling to visit new towns, parks, forests...wherever his legs would allow them to go.
No matter where he was, he could feel Ghost’s presence there with him as if he was his shadow. Soap eventually stopped caring what others thought in public, and blabbered aloud to himself whether they were at a museum or coffee shop, glancing at his journal every couple of minutes like a right lunatic.
Once he got his driver’s license, it only expanded their horizon as Soap used every bit of free time he had to travel the country to see even more of the beautiful countryside and explore new areas, like the beach they were on now.
“Just keep thinkin’ about it, maybe you’ll remember something, yeah?”
Soap tossed a seashell into the rolling waves before he swiveled and made his way to the blanket he had laid on the sand. He plopped down and pulled his journal from his jacket, flipping it to find the next blank page.
Noticing he was getting toward the end, he eyeballed roughly 15 pages left and made a mental note to pick up another one the next time he was at the market. He had lost count of how many journals he had gone through in the last 7 years, but kept every single one as a fragment of his life, every page full of illustrations, his writings, and of course, Ghost.
Page after page of Ghost’s thoughts, comments, jokes…
“What is all o’ this, John?” Ma had asked, holding the journal as she stood in the middle of his bedroom. Of course, of all times he had left the book wide open on his desk while he had run downstairs was when she had walked in to grab laundry.
“Ma, it’s nothin’, it’s just-” Soap had pleaded, reaching out to grab it from her and failing as she snatched it further away, flipping through the pages of Ghost’s messages that, out of context, looked as if Soap was just writing random, meaningless sentences over and over.
“I didn’t realize it was affecting ye this bad…’ Ma fretted, eyes panicked as she met Soap’s equally frantic gaze. “Me and yer Pa splittin’ up…”
Soap shook his head as he successfully tore the notebook from her, clutching it close to his torso like the precious thing it was. “No, Ma….” He struggled to find words to explain but came up short as he gasped for breath. How do you rationalize that you communicate through your journal with a ghost who follows you around?
He returned to the present, looking for Ghost’s response and finding it scribbled across the page in his typical penmanship.
“What should I think of?”
“Well…” Soap bit his tongue in thought, “How about where ye lived?”
He flipped the page and grabbed his favorite ink pen for doodles, waiting for Ghost to reply.
At the top of the page, ink began to bleed across the paper to formulate the words.
“I dunno, Johnny. I’ve tried but there’s just nothin’”
Soap clicked his tongue in shame. “That won’t do.” He muttered as he grabbed a pen from his bookbag and uncapped it. He pulled his knees up to balance his journal against them, adjusting until he found the angle he needed and pressed the ballpoint of the pen to the page. If Ghost couldn’t recall his memories, then they’d just have to make new ones.
“Tell me about your home.”
“I told you. I don’t kn-”
“C’mon Ghost, throw me a bone here.” Soap insisted with exasperation, cutting the spirit off before the small words could finish forming on the left side of the journal. On the right page, he sketched a horizontal line halfway down the paper as a baseline. “Just tell me the first thing you think of.”
Soap paused for a few moments, and rolled his eyes in annoyance once he realized Ghost was ignoring him.
“One story or two story?” He persisted.
Soap waited patiently through the long pause that ensued, keeping his eyes trained on the left page and placing the tip of the pen back on the page to signal to Ghost that he was expecting an answer.
“Fine. I’ll play along.”
Soap smirked triumphantly, readjusting his grip on the pen in waiting.
“One.”
The pen scratched softly against the thick paper as Soap sketched a large rectangle formed on the page, using the baseline he had made as the ‘ground’.
“Is the roof flat, or raised?”
“Raised, I suppose.”
He drew a diagonal line starting from the top corner of the rectangle. “Like this? Or does it need to be slanted more?” A pause, as if Ghost was deliberating.
“Like that.”
Soap continued, finishing the shape of the roof. “Alright. Where’s the front door?” He placed the pen in the middle of the rectangle. “In the center?”
“No. The door’s toward the right.”
“It’s rounded at the top. No window.”
“And there’s a shed next to the house on that side, as well.”
“Bushes in the front. A tree on the left.”
A pleased smile stretched across Soap’s face as he sketched, following along with Ghost’s written instructions. They carried on for the next half hour until Soap’s fingers were nearly frozen from the chill, but they had managed to successfully illustrate a nice cozy house in the center of the page.
Soap added a couple more details to a window shutter before he decided he was happy with what they had and capped the pen. He rubbed some warmth into his fingers before he picked the journal up and held it out to take in their handiwork, squinting slightly as the sun lowered on the horizon, gradually stealing the light away with each passing minute.
Oh.
His eyebrows furrowed as he inspected the shape of the house more closely…the tree…the shed. How did it take him this long to notice?
“Ghost?” Soap questioned as he continued to trace his eyes over the familiar features of the sketch. “This- this is my house, isn’t it?”
“You asked me to think of my home.”
Soap smiled fondly and his stomach flipped at the unexpected sentiment, feeling a warm blush spread across his face despite the bitter chill. Before he could think too far into the implication that he could be Ghost’s home, he jumped in surprise as the journal page suddenly flipped to a blank one.
Ghost didn’t use his poltergeist-like abilities very often, but even if he did, Soap didn’t think he could ever get used to it. He chastised himself internally for being startled, hoping it wouldn’t deter Ghost from practicing his telekinesis around him. Soap was still working on encouraging the spirit to explore his abilities despite his hesitancy to do so, and they had made great progress in discovering what the ghost was capable of.
“Your turn.”
“My turn?” Soap read the conjured message at the top of the page and quirked an eyebrow, wondering what his companion could be up to. “For what?” He questioned.
“Close your eyes.”
Soap’s face scrunched up in bewildered confusion. “Don’t think it’ll look very good if I draw wit’ my eyes closed, Ghost…” He reasoned, rubbing his hands together in a desperate search for some warmth. “Better get goin’ soon anyway, it’s fuckin’ cold and it’ll be dark before the end o’ the hour.”
“Silly thing. This time, you’ll tell me what to draw.”
His back straightened in shock as he re-read the sentence to make sure he understood correctly. “Since when can you draw?” He teased with a grin.
“Maybe I’ve learned a thing or two from you…”
Suddenly, he felt his hands become enveloped by a warmth that then slowly spread up his arms to his shoulders before his entire body was shrouded in the pleasant sensation. Ghost’s presence was always a welcome one, and it felt like the spirit was wrapping itself around him like a protective cocoon.
“This is new…” Soap commented. Ghost had always felt ice-cold in any of their previous physical interactions, like a shadow that blocked out any of the sun’s warmth from his skin. Regardless, he happily accepted the new improvement and relaxed into the warmth, perfectly content to be sheltered from the brisk air.
“Told you, I’m learning.”
Soap smiled and leaned back, pleased when Ghost’s presence pushed against him and kept him from falling back. Using the spirit like the back of a chair, he adjusted until he was nice and comfortable in the embrace.
“Alright. Whaddya want from me?” He stifled a yawn, realizing the long day was finally catching up to him. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t fall asleep before he could participate in whatever Ghost was plotting.
“Tell me what I look like.”
Soap’s eyebrows shot up and he straightened up slightly in interest. Still, he managed to keep his eyes shut despite his surprise at the unexpected request.
“Like, as a human?” He asked for clarification, chewing his lip in thought.
“Exactly.”
“I think I can do that. Ye ready?” The side of Soap’s mouth twisted in a mischievous smile.
“Close your eyes.”
Soap obeyed without a second thought and shuttered his eyes. He took a moment to allow his mind’s eye to take the wheel and visualize a face. It was difficult, trying to make up what your incorporeal friend could look like without even the most vague clue to go off of but…
The more he thought about it, the easier it was. He’ll never know if it was pure imagination or his connection with the spirit, but he found himself effortlessly rattling on, describing features to Ghost that just seemed right.
Once he felt satisfied with the details he had shared and enough time had passed, he asked aloud if Ghost was ready for him to open his eyes. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he wouldn’t be able to read whatever he wrote in response, but then he felt a light, warm squeeze on his shoulder.
Taking it as an indication that Ghost was finished, Soap cracked his eyes open and glanced down at the journal in his lap.
He was met with a portrait of a handsome young man staring back, and Soap’s jaw dropped in amazement. The sketch was not only beautiful but also managed to perfectly encapsulate what he had pictured in his imagination for Ghost to look like.
Soap slowly dragged his eyes over the drawing, across the strong jaw and defined, crooked nose. The illustration in front of him may have been a simple one, but the lines and composition perfectly depicted the features, thoroughly impressing Soap and giving him another glimpse at Ghost’s evolving abilities.
“What do you think?”
He glanced at the words and found his voice, “It’s…this is amazing, Ghost.” He spoke earnestly, letting his gaze travel back to examine the drawing.
The face seemed young, close to his own age. However, the dark eyes staring back at him said otherwise. Despite appearing close to 18 years old, the pinched, heavy look in his eyes made him look lifetimes older. It hurt Soap’s heart to think of what those eyes had seen to mature this boy’s face to such a degree.
Regardless of the haunted look captured in them, Soap was drawn to the dark eyes staring back at him, which he had described as ‘rich and warm’ when instructing Ghost. The light-colored hair on top of his head complimented them well, and Soap found himself getting lost in this attractive, mysterious figure.
“I wish I could meet you.” Soap blurted before he could stop himself.
“You have met me, Johnny.”
Soap rolled his eyes, sensing the deadpan ‘tone’ in Ghost’s words.
“You know what I mean. Like this.” He clarified, letting his thumb reach out and run across the dark ink of ‘Ghost’s’ jaw.
“Careful. Gonna start thinking you like me.”
Soap smiled, feeling the blush light up his face. Darkness had set over the beach and he knew it was past time for them to leave, but he couldn’t help the urge to indulge in a little more time like this. He burrowed against Ghost’s presence and slipped his eyes shut again. This time, he focused on the heat surrounding his body and the realization hit him all at once.
The invisible pressure against his back, once he turned his face and laid his cheek against it, felt like a chest, warm and solid. The slight squeeze on his shoulders that Soap could recognize as arms wrapped around him. And lastly, a burning hot sensation encompassing his hands that, once Soap thought about it, felt exactly like a pair of hands clasped over his.
With his eyes closed, the clarity that this felt exactly as if he was wrapped up in Ghost’s arms came crashing down on him. He sighed, happy and relaxed, before resting his full weight against Ghost.
Soap knew he was moments from slipping asleep, but he did nothing to stop it, knowing that his companion would keep him safe and warm through the night.
…
At 19 years old, Soap was laid back on his bed, gripping the sheets for dear life.
A soft sigh escaped his parted lips as he lifted his neck to gaze down across his own bare body. His eyes may have told him that he was alone, but the unmistakable, invisible warmth exploring his bare chest and flank said otherwise.
When he slipped his eyes shut, it felt exactly like a pair of hands roaming his skin, fuck, even better, because of how searingly hot they were.
It was at this moment Soap learned that Ghost could change his temperature at will because when the ‘hands’ traveled to his stomach, they suddenly turned ice cold.
“Christ fuckin’ almighty, Ghost.” Soap yelped and cursed, trying and failing to wriggle away from the ticklish, sharp sensation. He laughed and kicked a leg out, but it met nothing and swung through the air, landing back down onto the mattress with a thump.
Because as they had learned, Ghost could touch Soap, but not the other way around.
The ‘hands’ melted back into warmth once again and Soap sighed in relief. He could practically feel the amusement radiating off of Ghost as he returned to roaming his body again. Soap relaxed into the mattress and brought his arms above his head to grip his pillow and let his legs fall open in invitation.
He could feel a dark, hungry gaze on him as the sensation trailed down to caress the inside of his thighs, earning a pleased moan from Soap.
This development had been an unexpected, but welcome one. It hadn’t taken long for the light touches that started months ago to gradually turn into heavy petting, and excitement curled in Soap’s gut that this was the ‘furthest’ they had gone.
When he had stepped out of the shower half an hour before, the last thing he had anticipated was to feel Ghost’s presence immediately envelop his body before he could even towel off. The spirit had prodded at him, directing him towards the bed to which Soap had happily obliged.
Soap glanced toward the desk where his journal lay, unable to read any words Ghost could be writing in it at that moment. He would get up to cross the room and retrieve it, but he already had a feeling that the feisty, possessive spirit would protest him leaving the bed, so he let it be. Ghost’s abilities had developed to the point that his touch felt just as real as a normal human’s, and he could effortlessly move objects, -even Soap, sometimes- but he still would only communicate through writing.
Part of him wondered if Ghost could speak but simply chose not to and the thought frustrated him, always a small sliver of self-consciousness telling him that Ghost didn’t want to talk to him.
He was pulled from his thoughts as the warmth finally settled between his legs. Soap sighed in relief and tilted his hips to lean into the touch, encouraging Ghost to continue.
Ghost lightly caressed him and Soap’s breath quickened as waves of pleasure rolled through him by the spirit’s touch. Just as he thought it couldn’t feel any better, he felt something gentle prodding at his entrance.
Soap gasped in surprise as the light touch teasingly circled his hole. He gripped the pillow hard and spread his legs further, a long whine leaving his throat at the ticklish sensation. The touch became firmer and pressed against him harder, eliciting a loud moan from him.
His eyes slipped shut and he focused on the feeling, gasping when he made the connection.
‘It feels like a tongue.’ He realized with a spark of excitement and arousal.
“Holy hell, Ghost.” Soap moaned as the ‘tongue’ prodded, feeling the soft, wet sensation gently lick against him. “How th’ fuck are ye doing that?”
Soap opened his eyes once he realized he wouldn’t be able to read a response from Ghost without his journal. He looked longingly across the room where it lay, and debated on whether or not it was worth the effort to wrestle his way out of the spirit’s covetous grasp to retrieve it…
Something in the corner of his eye catches his attention and he swivels his gaze back to his own body, watching in shocked amazement as dark words etched themselves across his thigh.
“I’m full of all kinds of tricks, Johnny.”
“Ye don’t fuckin’ say.” Soap retorted. Suddenly, his eyes widened in sheer panic and he propped himself up on his elbows. “Wait-” He protested frantically. ”-those words better not be permanent-”
The markings vanished from his skin right before his eyes, and Soap sighed in a magnitude of relief before more words appeared.
“Not unless you want them to be.”
Something hot and heavy clenched in Soap’s abdomen at the idea of Ghost permanently marking his body with whatever he pleased. He blushed in embarrassment and before he could think about it too hard, the warmth between his legs slipped inside and he threw his head back with a debauched moan.
Soap panted, chesting heaving up and down as Ghost pleasured him like he’d never felt before. Nothing could compare to the warm ‘hands’ petting his thighs and hips, the impossibly hot sensation of the wet ‘tongue’ exploring inside him…
At least not until the sensation left him and suddenly the ‘hands’ gripped him hard and lifted his hips off the bed.
Soap yelped with astonishment as he was manhandled halfway into the air, feeling Ghost spread his legs apart even wider. “Holy fuck- ha-” Soap groaned, looking down at the strange sight of his lower half suspended by what appeared to be nothing.
“Absolutely perfect.”
The ink sketched itself across his thigh and Soap melted at the praise, was amazed at the thought that Ghost enjoyed this so much despite the fact that Soap couldn’t touch or please him back.
A firmer, thicker sensation pressed against him, and Soap’s jaw fell slack as he made a sudden, bizarre realization.
“Am I about to lose my virginity to a ghost?” He thought hysterically.
Ghost slid inside him effortlessly, and Soap groaned as he was filled, eyes blinking in wide shock that he felt no pain or discomfort. He continued to be astonished as the penetration began slowly thrusting in and out, the spirit taking care of him well, making sure each stroke was nothing but enjoyable for Soap.
Soap babbled incoherently as the pleasure built, his eyes going blurry from the sensations. He was vaguely aware of the dark ink trailing all over his thighs, stomach, and chest, all words of encouragement and praise from his Ghost.
“Doing so well.”
“Love hearing you.”
“Beautiful, Johnny.”
“Want me to go faster?”
Thankful that his mum wasn’t home, Soap screamed a resounding yes in response. Ghost obliged, and Soap reached out to grip the sheets in each hand as the penetration sped up, shifting his body back and forth across the mattress with each thrust.
Soap didn’t last a minute before he came with a cry, Ghost continuing to fuck him through each wave of pleasure that rolled through him.
When he caught his breath, he gazed over all of the words sketched into his body and couldn’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for them to be permanent.
…
At 19 years and 30 days old, Soap can sense Ghost’s restlessness.
The spirit had continued to develop his capabilities as time passed, and Soap perceived the reason to be that Ghost yearned for more. What used to be a silent, undetectable presence hidden deep within the shadows had grown to be heavy and unmistakable- like a dense fog. It felt as if Ghost was constantly trying to fill up the room- spreading, searching…but searching for what?
His intuition was proven right when Ghost finally expressed his desires one night in the journal in front of him. He explained the possibility of being able to live his own life, as a human. Soap perked up in interest, his heart skipping a beat at the idea of having Ghost here in person, being able to see him, hear him, touch him…
They could have a life together. Soap wouldn’t have to hide him from the world, and would finally be able to proudly enjoy Ghost’s company in public, with family, without the fear of being locked in a psychiatric ward.
“How?” Soap had asked eagerly as he thought of the possibilities. “Some kind o’ reincarnation? Or -wait-” He suddenly paused with a suspicious, mischievous look in his eye. “Yer not planning on-”
“No, Johnny. I’m not going to possess anyone.”
“Whew.” Soap sighed in mock relief and pretended to wipe the sweat off his brow. He felt two warm ‘hands’ place themselves on his shoulders and rub soothing circles into his arms. Soap melted into the touch, but an ache of anxiety hit him when he felt what he could only describe as deep sadness radiating off of the spirit.
He chewed his lip in worry. ‘Why is-’ Soap pondered and faltered.
‘Why is this beginning to feel like a goodbye?’
Ghost explained to him that he didn’t know how to achieve this goal of his, but was confident that could find the answer if he searched for it.
‘Away from me.’ Soap thought dimly.
Still, if this was something that would make Ghost happy and fulfilled- if he needed to search for answers and find himself- Soap would support him the entire way. His mood brightened with renewed interest and energy as he considered Ghost’s plan.
“Well, what’s stoppin’ you?” Soap had asked with a cheery grin.
With a full-body, crushing embrace and a promise to return as soon as he could, Ghost had disappeared, leaving behind a loneliness that Soap hadn’t felt in almost 10 years.
…
At 19 years and 37 days old, Ghost had been gone for a week.
Soap left the journal wide open at all times and checked it first thing every morning before he went to class, checked it as soon as he got home, and always one last time before going to bed.
Two weeks later, the page was still blank.
It was a week after that when Soap was putting his watch back on after taking a shower and spotted an unfamiliar mark on his wrist. He twisted his hand to get a closer look at it, and his eyebrows shot up in shock, how had he not noticed sooner?
On the ulnar side of his wrist, where he had to twist his arm to be able to see it, laid a tiny, black hashtag etched into his skin.
At that moment, he realized he had forgotten to ask Ghost how long he would be gone.
Months came and went until Soap’s birthday when he fought sleep to stay up past midnight- just in case the spirit would visit. With a heavy heart and an ache in his gut, one thing became clear to him-
-He had been foolish to assume that if Ghost wanted to live a new life, he would spend it with him.
At 20 years and 1 day old, Soap closed the journal.
…
Soap joined the military at 21, and as he packed his things, he came across the myriad of journals tucked away in a box underneath his bed. He flipped through one of them, casually scrolling through his sketches, musings, and of course-
-the many, many conversations he’d had with Ghost.
He frowned as he perused through the pitch-black words, realizing that it all felt like a distant memory now. Suddenly, the various arguments he’d had with his mother came rushing back to him.
“We can get ye help.” She’d pleaded as she waved the journal through the air in exasperation. “I hear ye talking to yerself all th’ time!”
“It’s nothin’, I swear.” He argued, trying his best to keep calm despite the panic that was expanding in his chest. “I’m jus’ talkin’ to my friends on the phone-”
“I’m not stupid, John.” She bit back, “When’s th’ last time ye even saw any of yer friends?!”
Soap blinked back to the present. He hated the doubt growing in him, but he couldn’t help but begin to wonder if she was right.
Had he made the entire thing up?
He’d shaken his head with a sullen frown, subconsciously rubbing his wrist and the small tattoo there. Finally, he unceremoniously shoved the box of journals back under the bed.
Soap threw his backpack over his shoulder and went to the door, pausing under the threshold to look over his shoulder and take one last look at his room. Their room.
With his parents split, his mum barely home, and the aching, missing presence of his closest friend, he decided there was nothing left here for him. So with a deep exhale and hardened eyes, he shut the door and moved on to the next chapter of his life.
…
By age 26, Soap’s career had skyrocketed and taken him to places he never dreamed of.
Being the youngest to pass SAS selection had only been the beginning, and he kept his sights focused on the future to become the best he possibly could be.
Between running through constant drills, endurance training, education, and high-stakes missions, it left him little time to stop and reflect on the past. Slowly but surely, memories of his childhood and teenage years faded into the background with every passing year.
His rapidly developing maturity had convinced him that his strange experiences must have been the result of a vibrant, creative imagination combined with some kind of mental break from the stress and loneliness at home.
Every now and then though, he’d take off his watch and get a glimpse in the mirror of the small grid tattooed on the side of his wrist and would pause to rub at it in thought while he searched his mind. He could never recall going to a parlor for this particular tattoo, but there must be some explanation.
Sometimes, he’d feel the answer right on the tip of his tongue but just couldn’t grasp it. He would be reminded of a dark gaze on him, a sunset on a beach, and a written promise in the middle of the night that hadn’t meant as much as he thought it had…
The memories would slip through his fingers every time and he would shake the thought, chalking it up to be a meaningless tattoo he must have gotten during a drunken night with pals, even though something in the back of his mind told him that was far from the truth.
He never expected it to come crashing down on him when Captain Price offered him a spot on his elite, four-person task force.
Soap had stared at him, gaping like a fish out of water, making an absolute fool of himself after all of the work he had put in to prove himself to be competent and steel-nerved throughout the rigorous selection process.
Price had just smiled and welcomed him to the team, and Soap had high hopes for the future.
There had been plenty of interesting figures Soap had met during his time in SAS, but even he was caught off guard when he laid eyes on the tall, hulking masked man approaching him on the tarmac. He didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes had widened significantly when he saw him, but Soap thought nothing of it. Price had noted he was the youngest on the team, so if anything, the soldier was likely surprised that someone his age could make it this far.
He learned the masked figure was the lieutenant he’d be reporting to, and when he introduced himself as Ghost, Soap suddenly faltered. He had opened his mouth to say his own name and rank, but the words died on his lips.
Except, he didn’t know why.
Ghost.
The familiarity of the word, ironically enough, haunted him. Something about it knocked on a metaphorical door in the back of his mind, requesting permission for entry.
Not now. He needed to focus.
Soap caught himself and coughed to cover his slip-up before properly introducing himself. The lieutenant just stared back blankly, dark eyes peering at him through the holes in the terrifying skull, and Soap was suddenly grateful that it seemed he wasn’t the only awkward person on the team.
…
The more he worked with Ghost, the more he respected and appreciated his abilities, his determination, his humor…
But, why did it hurt?
It was a path of thought that Soap was too cowardly to go down, something in the forefront of his mind warning him that he’d only find pain and disappointment at the end of it.
So when Ghost gives him orders, he follows without hesitation. When Ghost tells a joke, Soap laughs instead of acknowledging the way his heart skips a beat.
Under it all, something squirms during each interaction, daring to make itself known.
Every time Soap can feel Ghost’s eyes on him from across the fucking room, he blames it on the man’s chronic staring problem instead of acknowledging the uncanny feeling that he’s back in the childhood bedroom he hasn’t visited since he left all those years ago.
…
Soap is bleeding out in an alley in Mexico when he remembers.
The bullet struck his arm and he’d found himself on the ground with the sting of betrayal in his heart and Ghost’s panicked voice in his ear.
“Go Johnny, get out of there!”
“Soap - GO!”
All it had taken was one word to break down all of the walls Soap had unknowingly put up.
Johnny.
He doesn’t know if it was the nickname alone, or if it was in combination with the pure desperation in Ghost’s voice that did it, but the memories flooded in like a tidal wave.
Bikes. Beaches. Late nights with a journal in his lap. Waking up in the morning with an invisible weight hugging him so hard he thought he might suffocate.
Was he suffocating now? Focus.
He hid in an alley, chest heaving as he desperately tried to catch his breath. His mind reeled with the sudden recollection of memories he had once held so dear, but he pushed them aside for the time being. Soap needed to focus or there was no way he was going to survive this.
Ghost’s calm, comforting voice over the comms renewed his energy like nothing else could, and with his cool tone and godawful jokes in his ear, he managed to make it through the night alive.
Soap sat on the musty couch in the safehouse, eyes fixated on the sheet of grime covering the floor. Every now and then, a light breeze would filter through the cracked window and disrupt the thick layer of dust, tiny flecks gently spinning and flying across the panels of wood. He subconsciously rubbed at the watch on his wrist, where he knew the mysterious tattoo lay underneath.
Maybe it had been the hurt, or the desperation to grow up, but it had been so easy to bury the memories under the notion that they had all been elaborate daydreams. The guilt ate at him, wondering why it had been so effortless to wipe the spirit from his mind, after everything he had done for him.
A particularly harsh tug on the bandage around his arm pulled him from his stupor, and he whipped his head up to look at his lieutenant.
Ghost stared at him, as usual, from his adjacent spot on the couch as he finished wrapping his wound.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He commented, finally breaking eye contact to finish securing the bandage.
“Something like that.” Soap quietly muttered back, letting his gaze slowly slide back down to the floor. How do you tell your commanding officer that he reminds you of an actual ghost you befriended for 10 years of your life that may or may not have been a figment of your imagination?
But…the jokes, the callsign, the staring, the protectiveness..could it really be just one big coincidence? Soap squashed the thought before he could get his hopes up. It was ridiculous to even consider and Ghost, the person responsible for the future of his career, would think he was insane.
“You remind me of someone I knew.” He spoke after a moment of comfortable silence.
Ghost said nothing, but pinned him with a peculiar look. Soap could just barely see the man’s brow bone shift under the skull, eyebrows furrowed in what he assumed to be confusion. Soap opened his mouth to elaborate further, but the words died before they could even manage to make it out of his throat.
“What happened to him?” The lieutenant prompted as he returned the first aid supplies to the small plastic box sitting on the cushions between them.
Soap rubbed harder at the watchband covering the tiny 3 x 3 grid on his wrist as he pondered the question.
Had his Ghost finally found the happiness he was looking for? Was he out there somewhere, living a fulfilling life? Had his soul finally discovered peace?
Had he returned to that bedroom to find Soap gone and their years of conversations shoved in storage like forgotten relics?
The thought pained Soap and he frowned. “I dinnae.” he murmured, face sullen and eyes stormy.
Ghost had looked hesitant, like he wanted to say something but the moment was interrupted when they shifted their focus to Rudy, who informed them he had finally managed to make contact with Price.
Later, Soap pulled out his journal and flipped through the last year’s worth of writing and sketches until he came to a blank page. He took a deep breath and thought about what he wanted to say.
He could have written a fucking novel about everything he wanted to tell Ghost. He yearned to catch him up on everything he had accomplished, how hard he had worked for it. He wanted him to see how far he had come and tell him about how much he respected and loved his team.
Instead, he found himself writing one sentence that encapsulated everything he felt. It was a long shot that he would get a response, but he needed some kind of closure, even if it was one-sided.
He capped the pen once he finished and looked over the words before setting the book onto the floor next to his sleeping bag.
“I miss you.”
…
Soap was forced to swallow down his disappointment when he didn’t receive an answer, or so he had thought.
It turned out that he had got a response, just not in the way he’d expected.
Because the next time he unlatched his watch, his stomach dropped at what he discovered underneath.
In the center of the 3 x 3 tattoo on his wrist was a small but unmistakable, ‘O’.
He stared at it for a moment, blinking to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. He can’t remember the last time he had looked at the marking, but he was positive this was new.
Laughter bubbled from his chest, a mixture of hysterical relief and amusement at the ridiculousness of it all.
“You asshole,” He thought to himself with a grin as he fondly stroked a thumb across the tattoo. “Never been able to communicate normally, have ye?”
Logic told him he should be angry, he should swear at the spirit and ask him where the fuck has he been? But any weight of anger he felt melted away into total relief at the fact that Ghost was okay, he was still here.
His mind raced with excitement, already planning what he was going to write in his journal as soon as their briefing was over. He’d tell him everything that’s happened in their time apart. He’d ask Ghost to tell him everything, share his own story.
Before he could do that though, the rug was ripped underneath him when during the briefing, Lieutenant Ghost pulled the mask off his head and revealed what was underneath.
Soap’s chest hitched and his eyes widened as he stared at the man in front of him. Internally, his brain told him there was no way, it couldn’t be possible.
But his eyes said differently, because-
Because the man standing before him had the very same face that had been drawn in his journal on that beach so many years ago.
Everything said in the briefing after that moment had been fuzzy, despite Soap knowing he should be paying more attention. But the shock had hit him like a freight train and his thoughts were racing to catch up and make sense of it all. This could no longer be considered just a coincidence.
Right?
True to his callsign, Ghost vanishes immediately after the briefing. Soap hunts him down, checking every room until he finally finds the man in the place he least expects him to be.
Ghost is sitting on his sleeping bag with his journal in his hands, flipping through the pages.
Soap slowly approached, trying to keep his voice as steady as he could, “It’s you.”
Ghost looked up at him, and his eyes crinkled while he replied,
“It’s me.”
…