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On the outside, John “Soap” MacTavish was known for being excitable, eager for battle and ready to pull the trigger at any moment. He wasn’t lacking trigger discipline- he was a trained SAS soldier for fucks sake- but he always gravitated towards more risky tactics.
He took pride in his work and was known for his ‘explosive’ personality on and off the field.
What people often didn’t know, was his love for art. Sometimes he just needed to curl up on his thin mattress and sketch out a day of emotions too overwhelming to express. Other times it was just a way to pass time, to fill his head with thoughts other than bloodshed.
He carried his little leather sketchbook everywhere he went. It was filled with doodle, pages covered in graphite sketches and stuffed with little scraps of paper and post-it notes.
Gaz was to blame for most of the post-its. During meetings he would very seriously slide over crude doodles of their superiors in attempts to make Soap laugh, and he didn’t have the heart to throw them out.
So they stayed in his sketchbook, some taped in and others simply held by the pages they were tucked into.
After Las Alamas, Ghost started sliding him scraps of paper too; mostly horrible dad jokes written on them, slid over whenever a meeting got too boring. Sometimes he’d find them tucked in the pocket he kept his sketchbook in, the big bastard sneaking it into his pocket without him noticing it.
Those he made sure stayed inside. He dedicated a few pages in the back to these stupid jokes, layering the scraps together to fit as many as he could.
Soap loved having his friends’ additions in something so close to him.
When he was a kid he didn’t let anyone touch his sketchbook. It was something sacred, not to be touched by outside hands, no matter how close to him.
Now he wanted those hands on it, to prove that they were there. That they were real, all of them. If Soap were to perish in the battlefield there would be proof of his presence in his sketchbook. There would be proof of his friendships, of the bonds he had with his fellow soldiers and how they impacted him.
Soap’s sketchbook looked simple, but it meant everything to him. More than any metal of honor ever would.
——
Gaz had been kind enough to gift Soap a new sketchbook his last birthday. It was beautifully patterned leather with smooth, warm stained paper and tied off with a thin strip of leather.
It had quickly filled with his sketches, Gaz’s doodles, and Ghost’s handwriting.
It wasn’t full, not yet. But it was growing fast and he’d run out in a good month or two.
“How’s the sketchbook coming along?” It was breakfast in the mess, somewhere Soap doodled often. Soldiers, food, and paper often didn’t mix but Soap and his table had enough respect that they were hardly bothered.
“Good. Filled teh tha brim with shitty doodles and god-awful dad jokes, as per usual.” He nudged Gaz, flipping to the back to show off his collection of awful army humor.
“Still can’t believe those are from Ghost of all people.” Gaz shook his head, tracing a finger over the taped down words.
“Fucker is filling up all mah pages, Ima be runnin’ oot soon.” He really wasn’t, and Soap didn’t think that he’d mind either way if he did.
“I’ll have to have a word with him for wasting the hard earned money I spent on your birthday gift.” Gaz wiggled his eyebrows, knowing full well Soap didn’t care about Ghost’s ‘intrustions’.
“Oh he’ll know after I run out.” Soap was a menace if he didn’t have a sketchbook to get all the thoughts out of his head.
“Maybe you should ask him for a new one, huh?” Gaz teased, jerking his head towards where their commanding officer stood imposingly in line.
“I’m not askin’ mah bloody lieutenant fer a damn sketchbook.” Soap was regretting telling Gaz about Las Alamas. Apparently Gaz had gotten it in his head that Ghost was into Soap.
Which not only is very untrue, but also terrifying to his extremely active imagination.
Ghost was exactly Soap’s type. Big and strong with a deep voice- even if the Manchester accent was a bit off putting at first- and imposing as hell. Better yet, he was far nicer than people thought he was. Soap was a sucker for tall dark and handsome, but if he was an asshole it was an immediate no.
At first it was a simple pull of attraction. Soap was going to show off for his new lieutenant, worm his way into his graces, of course he would. And he was big bad scary Ghost? A welcome challenge.
And of course Gaz fucking noticed.
“I bet he’d buy it for you.” Gaz leaned forward on his palm, watching Soap squirm with a grin.
“Yer right mad.” Soap pushed him away, looking up at the clatter of Ghost’s tray on the table.
“Worth a shot, eh?” Gaz kept fucking going. “Worst that can happen is you’ll get a new sketchbook out of it.”
“Soap’s getting a sketchbook?” Ghost pulled up the bottom of his mask, the slight fucking bit of skin already making Soap’s heart speed up.
“Another, since you keep filling it up with horrible jokes.” Gaz snatched the sketchbook from Soap, sliding the open pages of Ghost’s little notes over before Soap could protest.
“Didn’t know you kept them. Sentimental, Johnny?” You have no idea. Ghost chuckled silently, shaking his head as he pushed the book back to Soap.
“I keep all o’ them, got Gaz’s shitty doodles in here too.”
“Hey!” Gaz tried to swipe at the sketchbook as Soap flipped through the pages to find the post-its.
“And here I thought I was special.” Ghost gave a mock pout, scarred lips pursing in a very appealing way.
“Aww, Ghost are you jealous?” Gaz teased, still reaching for the book.
“Keep telling yourself that.” Ghost thumbed through the pages, ignoring Soap’s protests.
“Oi! Give that back!” Hurriedly leaning over, he grabbed for the sketchbook as Gaz gave up on getting it himself. Ghost held him back with an arm, holding his sketchbook just out of his reach.
“Didn’t mention you were an artist, Sergeant.” Ghost paused on a page, eyes flicking between Soap and the book. Soap tried to push against the hand holding him in place, groaning in frustration when the big bugger didn’t even budge.
“Never came up, sir.” Soap grabbed at the book, hoping he wasn’t on one of the pages of, well, Ghost himself.
“Maybe it should’ve.” Ghost murmured, passing the book back. Just as he’d thought, the page was open to one of the spreads dedicated entirely to Ghost.
Fucking hell.
The tips of his ears felt hot, spreading across his neck and surely making his face blotch with red.
“Maybe ye should keep yer nose outta mah business.” He stuck his tongue out, tying the sketchbook closed and tucking it back into his pocket.
“Like you’re one to talk.” Funny coming from Gaz, Soap’s traitorous gossip buddy.
“Ah, shut yer trap ye bastard. Yer no better than I am.” Scoffing into his breakfast, Gaz didn’t have a retort. Easy win.
——
Soap didn’t think anything of the exchange. Just another conversation to add to the ever growing list of ‘let’s play the game of is Ghost flirting with me?’. Nothing too groundbreaking.
The one difference it made was that Soap took to drawing more around Ghost. During meals, in the rec room, on the helo after missions. Every time it would draw Ghost’s eyes, and damn Soap if he ever got tired of his gaze.
Gaz teased him for it. Called them both pathetic- not to Ghost’s face of course- and telling them to stop flirting in front of him.
Tough shit for Gaz, because the sketchbook seemed to draw Ghost in like a shark to blood.
“Can you fucking believe he said that to me? I’m going to burn that fucker next time I see him, I swear…” They were sprawled out in the rec room, taking up an entire couch with Soap lounging on one end, a knee up to his chest and his sketchbook balancing on it with his full attention.
Gaz was draped dramatically over the rest of the couch, feet on Soap’s thigh and his head over the arm.
“If ye need any help, I’ve been known to burn things well.” Gaz snorted, kicking him from his spot.
“Yeah, if I want the whole base leveled. Gotta be subtle here.” Soap shook his head, eyes never leaving the drawing in his book. The head didn’t look quite right… hm.
“I can be subtle, it’s just less fun that way.” Maybe the shoulder was off. Erase that… Nope. Still looks weird. The ears? Yeah they were way too high, time to erase that.
“Are you sure? Because you and Ghost are anything but subtle.” Soap paused to shove Gaz’s feet off the couch, grinning at his friend’s self-satisfied laughter.
“Yer bums out the windo.” Erasing the detail he just drew again, Soap cringed at the streak of grey the eraser left on the paper. Hate it when it fuckin’ does that…
“Excuse me, my arse is perfectly fine on this couch right here.” Roughly rubbing the eraser on an empty space of the page, Soap checked it carefully. Clean, good. No more grey smears.
“I’m sure it’s very comfortable, would be a right shame if someone were to shove it off.” Gaz settled his feet back on Soap’s thigh, waggling his toes at him teasingly.
“You’d do no such thing.” Soap grabbed his ankle, grinning as he shut the book. He took hold of Gaz’s other leg, raising his eyebrows at his friend.
“Wait nono no-“
Gaz hit the floor with a thud, groaning. Soap let go of his legs, letting them thump to the ground and regaining his seat on the couch, opening his sketchbook like nothing happened.
“You’re a right bastard, you know that?” Soap responded by simply holding up the sign for ‘I love you’ with his free hand, returning his attention back to his drawing.
“Needed a whole couch to yourself, huh Johnny?” Ghost’s rumbling voice caught him off guard, low in his ear like they were over comms. Soap fucking jumped, scrambling to keep hold of his sketchbook and whatever dignity he had left.
“Steamin’ bloody fuckin’ Jesus, Ghost. Ye scared the daylights outta me.” He clutched a hand to his heart, turning to his laughing commanding officer.
Ghost was leaning on the back of the couch, wearing a hoodie and his signature skull balaclava. His eyes were crinkled in quiet laughter, deep honey eyes caged by long blond lashes that caught the horrible fluorescent light beautifully.
Soap’s mind just about blue screened.
“Drawing?” Ghost nodded to the sketchbook clutched to his chest. Soap nodded, shifting back into his original position. Ghost’s chin was practically on his shoulder, dark eyes peering at the pages of his book.
“Aye. Great past time, keeps me doing somethin’.” Gaz shuffled back onto the couch, his head now on Soap’s thigh and his feet over the arm of the couch.
“And keeps him from chewing the walls.” Gaz piped up from his place on Soap, knocking his knuckles against Soap’s knee.
“Watch yerself, yer heads a lot closer to me now.” Soap threatened Gaz with his pencil, able to feel Ghost’s rumble of laughter through the couch.
“You know it’s true.”
“Chews the walls?” Gaz’s eyes lit up at Ghost’s question.
Shit.
“Yeah, one time someone stole his sketchbook and he blew up a bathroom and framed the guy.” Soap groaned, smothering Gaz with a pillow. It wasn’t his best moment, but nobody had been able to fully track it back to him.
Sure, his superiors had been suspicious as hell but they had no solid proof. Soap had gotten off scott free and the poor sod that stole his sketchbook was ‘mysteriously’ found with explosive materials in his room.
Nobody messed with Soap’s sketchbook after that.
“Fucking hell, Johnny. Remind me to never touch that thing.” Ghost shook his head, straightening up.
“I trust you with it Lt.” Soap specified, maybe too sincerely. “Yer not some random bastard with too much free time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” With whatever the hell that meant, Ghost bid them farewell and left the rec room.
“‘I trust you with it Lt.’! Oh Ghost, you can do whatever you want to me! I’m so in lo-“
“Ah haud yer weesht. I don’t sound like that.” Soap biffed Gaz on the head, looking around to see if anyone had heard him.
“Oh you absolutely do. It’s pathetic, really.” Gaz batted his hand away, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I bet you would let him do whatever he wants.”
“Yer outta yer mind.” Soap grumbled, trying to focus back in on his drawing. Hm… nope, head still looks weird.
“All I speak is the truth!”
“Now that is the least believable thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Prick.”
——
As it turns out, Soap was running out of room in his sketchbook. An increase in meetings and lack of off-base tasks lead to filling up the little leather book faster than he could find a new one.
Plus Soap was very picky about his sketchbooks.
“I keep seeing these beautiful leather sketchbooks but the paper is shite! Canna erase on ‘em or the whole thing starts to flake, it’s so annoying.” Soap jabbed at his dinner, running through the candidates he’d found so far.
“How are we today, boys?” Price sat in his usual seat, stopping Soap’s tirade on the sketchbook industry.
“Soap’s complaining about paper again.” Gaz had heard his complaints over and over again, practically every time he needed a new sketchbook.
“Isn’t it all the same?” Ghost arrived, setting his tray down with a clatter.
“Ghost you have no idea what you just did-“
“See ye’d think that, but no! All the pretty ones have this garbage paper that is weird and cloth-y, the pencil gets caught on bumps and shit. Plus if ye try and erase, it pills and gets all over yer eraser, making it useless!” Soap didn’t care that literally nobody else cared- when he got into these tangents nothing could stop him.
“An’ it doesn’t help that the sketchbooks with actually good paper look like shite. Is it too much to ask fer a good leather sketchbook? Oh, and even if ye get good paper and leather, ye gotta worry about how tight the strap that ties around it is, because if it’s too loose the pages’ll rub against each other and smear yer drawings, an-“ Soap paused, finally looking around.
Price was trying to look intrigued and failing, Gaz had his head in his hands, and Ghost was unreadable. Oh.
“Sorry. Got carried away.” He hated when he did that. He could ramble on for hours about something he was interested in if someone didn’t stop him.
“S’alright son.” Price gave him a kind smile, nudging Gaz’s arm like he was scolding a child.
Ghost just… looked at him. Soap could usually tell basic emotions based only on his eyes, but now it was just nothing. Which was certainly frightening.
“Got any updates on Laswell’s wife?” Gaz sparked up a new conversation, much to Soap’s relief. He didn’t think that he could bear sitting in silence.
“Yes, she’s doing quite well at the moment.” Soap felt a tap on his arm, turning to Ghost.
“Hm?” Behind him, Price was saying something about Laswell’s ill wife. He wasn’t paying it any mind though, Ghost’s curious gaze holding his flimsy attention fully.
“Keep telling me about those sketchbooks.” Soap’s heart just about fucking burst. Ghost was… interested in the shit he was spouting?
“Ye don’t have te humor me Lt., I know how boring this shite is.” It wasn’t to him, but the amount of people who actually cared were next to nothing.
“How about you humor me, Johnny? I want to.” A ruddy red flush flared to his cheeks, the unintended gesture making Soap only like Ghost more.
Fucking hell, he was down bad.
“Ah, I- er. Where was I?”
“Terrible paper.” Oh, he really was listening. Spare mah bleeding heart already, fer the love of god.
“Right. Well, while the papers proper shite fer general pencil and eraser, it works wonders with paint. Especially watercolor, although gauche combines tha best of acrylic and watercolor.” All he had to do was shut off his brain and ramble, he was way too good at that. But with Ghost right there, so close to him and watching him so intently, he could barely keep his thoughts off of him.
“Can’t get that here, can you?” Soap was so in love with this man.
“Aye, ‘s a bit more of an involved process than jus’ sketching.” Technically they did have paint, but it was shitty and Soap was very particular about the materials he used. If that wasn’t terribly obvious at this point.
“Plus it’s better t’ have a single sketchbook that does both then havin’ one that’s specific as hell.” He was running out of things to say. He knew he had more in his brain somewhere, but Ghost was so distracting when he was being cute and shit.
“Would be hard to paint on small paper too, right?” Oh yeah, his preference was pocket sized little sketchbooks. They fit nicely into his pockets and can be taken easily onto missions, a must have for him.
“Gettin’ into drawing yerself Lt.?” Why did he care so much? It didn’t necessarily concern Ghost.
“Nah, my drawings would make you gouge your eyes out.”
“Would hate to do that, it’d make me a pretty bad sniper.” At this point, Price and Gaz were lost to them.
“Can’t have that now Johnny, gotta keep those eyes sharp enough to watch my six.” Was this flirting?
“Need them to see yer bonnie face, ey sir?” Soap was absolutely flirting whether Ghost was or not.
“Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Shit, too far.
“Always.” Never.
——
“Fuckin’ hell, what a shit show.” Gaz slumped in the helo, covered head to toe in mud and blood. Soap wasn’t much better, cold mud seeping into his chest with the splatters of blood and gore all over his trousers. He was also faintly aware of how he likely smelt like a house fire, just barely out of the blast radius when it’d gone off.
“Nobody’s dead. Better than those bastards can say.” Soap laughed, a little manic. The adrenaline hadn’t run out yet, leaving Soap jittery.
“We’ll see how useful it actually was soon enough.” Price gruffed from behind a cigar, already getting in a position to sleep the rest of the long flight.
“You solid, Johnny?” Ghost had gotten off a little easier, being on overwatch in a perch. Only his hard shell mask had a streak of blood across its pristine surface, something Soap thought was extremely attractive- although that said more about Soap than Ghost.
“Aye, sir.” He was known to be jittery, but now a lot more than usual.
“You sure?”
“Ye know Lt., I’m starting to get the impression that ye like me.” Soap teased, nudging his arm. Just for good measure, he shoved his shaky hands between his thighs to hide them from Ghost’s perception.
“Keep dreaming, Sergeant.” Ghost rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his voice. Soap had weaseled his way into the coldest heart on base, and had made the mistake of falling in love with it.
”You have a heart?”
“A cold one.”
All tied back to Las Alamas, it always did. Where this stupid crush of his started.
“I ran out of pages in mah sketchbook.” Soap muttered, patting the pocket the book usually sat in. Drawing after missions was what kept him sane, what kept him out of his own head for however long it took to get back to base. To ignore the blood splattering his skin and the ache in his muscles, escape into a world of his creation.
The shrink called it a coping mechanism, Soap called it a hobby.
“Couldn’t find another?”
“Nah, everythin’ was either too expensive or right shit.” He would have to go scrolling through Etsy and Amazon later, there was no way he was going through another mission without one.
“Nothing up to your standards, Johnny?” Across from them, Gaz was passed out slumped against an ammo crate, Price snoring away with his hat covering his face. They certainly had the right idea, but Soap’s brain just couldn’t get the memo.
“Ye’ve heard my standards Lt.” Ghost had become his default ‘complain about art’ person, as Gaz had tired of it after the years. Wasn’t like Soap could blame him, the reason Ghost wanted to hear about it was beyond him.
“That I have.”
——
Gaz was absolutely correct. Soap was clawing the fucking walls, jittery and unable to sit still. It was weird how his sketchbook was like a sedative, small shots of dopamine enough to keep him going, to keep him sane.
Now he was drawing on Gaz because he couldn’t find anything else to do.
“Can I move?”
“No.” Soap tugged Gaz back, dragging the sharpie along his skin. A falcon was slowly coming to life under his hands, working around scars and dry spots to create his art.
“Yer a trained sniper Gaz, you can sit still.” Soap curved the wing around Gaz’s bicep, splaying the feathers in mid flight.
”You can’t be telling me to sit still.” Gaz flicked Soap’s head with his free hand, rolling his eyes when Soap swatted at him for it.
“We’re both snipers you ass.” Soap added the finishing flourishes to his ‘tattoo’, leaning back to admire his handiwork.
“Looks sick, mate.” Gaz smushed his skin to get a better look at it, for all his bitching seeming to actually admire it.
“Worth sitting still for an hour?”
“Absolutely. You’ve got real talent, dunno if I’ve ever actually said so.” Soap capped the sharpie, grinning back at his friend. Sure they bullied each other constantly, but it was nice to remember that Gaz loved him. Maybe not the same way he felt towards Ghost, but Soap loved his friend too.
“Nice tattoo, Gaz.” Speak of the devil, Ghost came waltzing in, making a break for the kettle. Fuckin’ Brits.
“Soap’s got no paper, I’m the next best thing.” Gaz flexed his bicep, showing off the drawing proudly.
“Someone should take that sharpie away before everyone on the base is covered in ink.”
“Ye want one Ghost?” Soap twiddled the sharpie, something feral seeping into his smile.
“Got something better.” Ghost took something out of his pocket, tossing it to Soap casually. A small leather book landed in his hands, thick, dark leather binding keeping warm stained paper tucked inside.
The book was beautiful. The cover was split in two by the tie, a rectangle on top with a soap bar carved into the leather, tiny bubbles coming off of it. A circle surrounded the bar, a larger one around that. Thin triangles bridged the gap between, a wide carved line created another rectangle around them. Below was another rectangle, climbing branches and vines filling the open space on the leather.
Every indentation was filled with a small pool of turquoise resin, just below the ridge lines. It was buffed to perfection, shiny and smooth and all Soap’s.
“Ye- Ghost, I… did you make this?” The back cover was engraved too. Not nearly as detailed but it was clearly handmade. And handmade for Soap.
“I did.” The more he turned the book over in his hands the more his heart swelled. The pages were the warm color of the pretty paper but were smooth and easy to erase on. Even the tie to shut the sketchbook was personalized, a thick chord tucking into itself without disturbing the beautiful carvings, four beads on the end. A skull, a bar of soap, a hat, and a helicopter.
“Did you seriously give me a helicopter?” Gaz said dubiously, narrowing his eyes at Ghost.
“What can I say Garrick, left an impression.” Soap laughed at his friend’s expense, still marveling at the book in his hands. It was small but thick, easy enough to slide into a pocket but with enough pages to last him a good while.
He turned it over, focusing on the back carved as well. Intricate patterns filled with blue resin in dark stained leather crisscrossed under his fingertips, the design having to take hours to get this level of intricacy.
It was a gift unlike any he’d ever gotten before.
“I-I don’t know what to say. This is gorgeous.” Even the binding was beautiful, more carvings along the spine.
“Don’t have to say anything, you using it is enough.” If Soap wasn’t so focused on the book in his hands he would’ve seen the pink on Ghost’s face just around the holes in his balaclava. Gaz certainly saw it, watching his friends painfully flirt.
“Thank you, Ghost. I’d hug ye but…” Soap desperately wanted to wrap his lieutenant in a tight hug, jump up and down, and give a big kiss to his forehead. But he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t violate Ghost’s space like that.
“You’re welcome. Enjoy it, Sergeant.” He absolutely would. Ghost left the room, leaving Soap to practically vibrate out of his skin with his new sketchbook.
“Mate… you need to date him.” Gaz clapped a hand on his shoulder, pointing at the book.
“Fuck off Gaz, it doesn’ mean anything.”
“Soap, he just made you a sketchbook.” Gaz rubbed his temples, groaning at his friend’s stupidity.
“So? He was probably tired of hearin’ mah bitching.”
”So, he listened to that bitching to find exactly what you’d like, bought materials based on your preferences, put an entire fucking book together, and then spent likely hours carving a bunch of details based on, again, what you like. Mate, if that isn’t love I don’t know what is.” Exasperated, Gaz cuffed Soap’s head for his idiocy.
“…Ah’m still not gonna say anythin’.” Soap looked down at the sketchbook, his ears turning red. Ghost… liked him? It really made sense, what with him being gifted a literal handmade sketchbook, but it still felt unreal.
“Fucking hell, for being so bright you are so, so dumb.”
——
True to his word, Soap didn’t mention anything to Ghost. He made sure to draw even more around him, showing off the gift proudly to anyone who asked.
It was late at night before the book came up again.
Soap was unable to sleep, stress dreams plaguing his rest and making his room feel uncomfortably small and desolate. He’d fled to the communal room for all of the higher ranking soldiers, taking his sketchbook with him to hopefully sketch out his anxieties.
Lost in his unsatisfactory drawing, he didn’t hear Ghost creeping up behind him. Well, he usually didn’t hear Ghost, but now it took him putting a scarred hand over his own to snap him out of it.
“Steamin’ Jesus- Ghost, ye scared me.” He clutched a hand dramatically to his chest, trying to avoid the searching look in Ghost’s eyes. He didn’t need to be so seen right now.
“Alright Johnny? It’s nearly morning.” Ghost’s voice was especially rough from sleep, rumbling deep in his core with how close he was.
“Aye, couldn’ sleep, ye know how it is.” He laughed nervously, eyeing his lieutenant as he started up the kettle.
“I do. How’s the drawing? Sketchbook holding up fine?” Ghost nodded to the book in Soap’s clammy hands, leaning back casually against the countertop.
“Beautifully. I absolutely love it, can’t thank ye enough.” Because of how thick it was, he’d barely made a dent in it. Soap always grew attached to his sketchbooks, but this might be the first he’s genuinely sad to finish.
“Of course. I enjoy my own version of creativity, it was a perfect opportunity to get back into carving.” The water bubbled in the electric kettle, turning Ghost’s attention away from Soap and to his tea. “Want any?”
“Nah. Never been a fan of tea.” He was too tired to make a joke about Brits, being awake during the hours meant for sleep taking a toll on him.
“Coffee?” Coffee sounded fucking amazing right now.
“Please.” Soap looked down at the drawing in front of him, just to tear his eyes away from his lieutenant in his pajama making him coffee.
It wasn’t his best work, sleep-deprived and stressed didn’t tend to produce his most impressive pieces. He realized blearily that he’d been doodling Ghost’s eyes in the empty spaces between characters, shame blooming deep in his gut.
“Hey Ghost?” His mouth opened before he could stop it, sleep addled brain not quite catching up in time to stop it.
“Hm?”
“Why’d ye really make me a sketchbook?” Gaz would’ve never made such a thing. Price absolutely wouldn’t have, hell, his previous fucking boyfriend wouldn’t have made such a thing.
“Johnny.” Ghost put the mug down, voice dangerous. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothin’ sir.” Shit, back peddle. Back peddle hard, Soap couldn’t ruin whatever he had with his lieutenant.
“Really? Because it sounds like you think I have ulterior motives with you.”
“I didn’a mean it like that.” Would Ghost even be interested in a relationship? He didn’t seem like the kind of man to be touchy-feely with people, let alone in a romantic aspect.
“Don’t lie to me. Tell me the truth.” He’d gone into the same voice he used on the field, harsh and commanding and distractingly hot.
“I don’t-“
“That was an order, Sergeant.” Soap refused to look him in the eyes, slowly closing the book and tying it back into place. It didn’t seem like a great time to say the truth, but Ghost would be able to tell if he wasn’t. He always could.
“It’s not much. Jus’… we might’a been on different pages.” His heart was sinking in his chest like a stone, feeling Ghost’s piercing gaze fixed on him.
He’d read it all wrong. The listening, the questions, the gift. Was probably just Ghost’s way of showing affection to friends, it didn’t mean anything. At least not how Soap was thinking.
“And what page exactly are we on?” Soap still refused to look at him, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, hoping this was all a very vivid dream.
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Soap.”
“Ima go back to sleep.” He stood abruptly, keeping his head held down, fearful for what his eyes might betray if Ghost were to see them.
”Johnny.” Ghost stopped him in his tracks, in front of him far faster than Soap anticipated.
“I wanted it teh mean something.” He gripped the book tightly, all of the time and effort Ghost put into it feeling so harsh now.
“I wanted it teh mean tha’ ye liked me as much as I like you. Nobody’s ever listened to me as much as ye have, remembered me so well and cared to put in so much effort.” Soap stared at Ghost’s shoes, sure his hands were shaking as he poured his heart out.
“I wanted it teh mean somethin’.” He repeated it barely above a whisper, heart pounding in his stomach, a lump in his throat heavy like a rock. He was a damn soldier, a member of the spec ops for fucks sake.
And here he was, shaking like a leaf at the admittance of a crush.
“It does.” Ghost placed surprisingly gentle hands over Soap’s shaking one’s, snapping him out of his gaze. Soap’s head jerked up to look at Ghost, meeting warm brown eyes. He looked so fucking soft.
“I made it because I like you, Johnny. I made it because I didn’t know how to tell you, being the best I could do to show you how much I care.” Removing a hand from Soap’s, Ghost reached up and tugged off his balaclava.
Soap forgot how pretty Simon was.
His eyes were always beautiful, a sight Soap was blessed with every day. But the rest of him was gorgeous too, even with- especially with- all the scars littering his face. And his hair. It looked so soft, white-blond hair shaved short on the sides and a little longer on top.
It was gorgeous. He was gorgeous.
“I like you too, Simon.” Reaching out tentatively, he slid a hand properly into Ghost’s.
“And thank ye for the book. It really is beautiful.” His heart didn’t know what to do with itself, beating harshly in nervous aftershocks and pure joy.
“Thanks, I made it to match you.” After being able to tell when Ghost smiled just by his eyes for so long, seeing a proper grin break out across scarred lips made Soap’s stomach flip.
“Yer quite a bonnie lad yerself. See why you hide yer face now, would be quite distractin’ otherwise.” They always flirted, always bantered just a little too close to the line between platonic and romantic.
Now… now it was real.
“All for you then.” Ghost leaned in, soft lips meeting Soap’s in the dark common room. If anyone were to walk in they’d both be screwed, but that was far from their minds at the moment.
The sketchbook was slid back onto the counter as Ghost crowded him against it, hands on Soap’s hips as they kissed in the dark. Soap carded a hand through soft hair, curling at the nape of Ghost’s neck and keeping him there, keeping him close against him.
“Would yeh let me draw you sometime?” Soap asked when they finally pulled away, grinning like a maniac.
“Paint me like one of your French girls?” Ghost joked, pressing a kiss to Soap’s forehead.
“Oh absolutely.” Soap’s laughed, smile turning absolutely feral.
——
Those who knew Soap were allowed into his sketchbook. They were given access to his heart through taped in sticky notes and sketches mid conversation.
Only Ghost held the honor of holding his heart wholly, a gift Soap gave freely the moment he held Ghost’s gift to him.