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the thud wakes him up for the third time that night.
“for fuck’s sake, simon…”
“hold on,” ghost grunts, equally exhausted.
a moment, and then the comfortable and warm position he’s found himself in gets disturbed. the way soap swears under his breath is lost with the shift of blankets, the way his head slips off ghost’s shoulder as he leans over soap to get to the edge of the bed. in the dark of ghost’s bedroom, soap silently glares at the wall behind ghost, until he hears the little grunt to know ghost’s found what he was after. more shifting, and all the air is knocked out of soap’s chest for a second as ghost’s weight lands wrong— ghost hurriedly corrects himself, but not before soap squeezes his eyes shut, determined not to make this as much of a problem as it is.
“got it?” he grits out, as ghost slips back into the sheets besides him, the two of them crammed together on the little bed. ghost hums his assent, the sound vibrating through them both— for a moment, soap savours the sound, before he feels the inevitable shift of polyester fur and stuffing as it gets tucked between them.
“i don’t understand how he keeps bloody fallin’ off,” ghost gripes, tucking them back together. the position isn’t as comfortable as before, but shifting too much gets soap a faceful of fur, so he gives up and settles for how he is— “it’s not like he’s wakin’ up at night for a walk.”
“go back to sleep,” soap replies instead, trying not to sound as annoyed as he is. “let me sleep, at least.”
either unaware of his tone, or uncaring of it, ghost grunts another sound of assent and does. it takes him exactly four minutes to nod off completely— soap waits exactly that long to snatch the bane of his existence from where it’s still tucked between them and push it as far as he can manage from the two of them.
like an idiot, soap had assumed the difficult part of it all would be falling into bed with ghost, managing their little secret, keeping their promises when the entire world threatened to fall apart at the seams in their hands.
that, comparatively, had been easy to what soap had found was the real challenge.
as it turned out, simon riley— the ghost of the battlefield, the spectre that haunted nightmares, the six feet of grit and whiskey that wore a skull mask when he was ripping out intestines— slept with a teddy bear tucked in his arms under the sheets.
and soap hates the damned thing.
it felt insane to say. their relationship— not that ghost calls it that— was ridiculously good. if soap had been worried about having his cake and eating it, too, ghost had shown him plenty of things he could do with cake even more enjoyable than eating it. they don’t need labels for it, not when they still got their flirty banter on comms, still got their perfect partnership, and at the end of the night, when everyone had turned in, they got each other, too. the semantics of it didn’t even matter, what they did didn’t matter. what mattered was at the end of the night, soap got ghost lax with affection in his arms, in his bed, skin body-warm and soft against him. it was excellent. he gets those deep brown eyes all to himself, those pretty pink lips. he’d go so far as to say perfect, if not for the one tiny detail he’d been introduced to that first time he’d felt brave enough to stay the night.
“his name’s bunny,” ghost had provided, rummaging about in his nightstand. soap had been sat on the edge of the bed, practically shaking with excitement at the fact that he’d not only seen ghost’s unmasked face, but was about to spend the night. he’d been so pleased, undershirt halfway over his head, that the words hadn’t even properly registered until he’d pulled it off.
“what?” he’d blinked, before being met with the sight of him.
he wasn’t a big bear, and not very expensive, either— a worn little thing with honey-brown curly fur and visible seams with how old he was. one plastic eye had been scratched, and the other had rotated slightly, so it was looking a different way.
soap had blinked at it, waiting for the punchline. instead, ghost had taken it back and gently adjusted his ear, the edge of it tearing so it dangled slightly.
“bunny,” ghost had said again, in the exact same voice, like he was telling him the weather.
“bunny?” soap repeated, eyebrows raised— and when he suddenly remembered how privileged he was to be there in the first place— “er— is he yours?”
“no,” ghost deadpanned, “the other bloke who lives here. the one whose bed we’re in.”
“hilarious, lt,” soap had replied, nodding sardonically. happy with that, ghost had lied back, adjusting bunny so he was comfortable in his arms. still not quite sure if it was a massive joke he wasn’t in on, soap had lay down next to him, watching the near tactical position with which ghost was placing bunny.
“and— bunny,” soap repeated again, a little dumbfounded— “why bunny?”
ghost had shot him a sidelong look like he was an idiot.
“‘cause he’s not a bunny” ghost replied, lifting it up to eye-level with soap. “he’s a bear. it’s a joke, johnny.”
“right,” soap had agreed, mainly because he didn’t know what else to say. “right.”
the first time, he’d been too surprised and too giddy at the prospect of sharing a bed to say anything. the second time, he begrudgingly decided it was endearing when ghost fell asleep with a teddy bear wrapped up in his arms like a kid. the third time, a little cold and more than a little annoyed that rather than the man in his bed, ghost had settled to cuddle with a hunk of polyester, he finally admitted that he did not like bunny in the slightest. it was a stupid, lopsided, ugly little thing. for fuck’s sake, it was a bear called bunny, the type of humour only someone like ghost, who chuckled at the jokes on penguin bars, would be amused by— it was a little crosseyed, and worn at the edges, and had a patch of fur on its head where the fur had been matted flat because of how often ghost tucked the thing under his chin. and it was always the same way, too— tucked under the covers, held in one arm, protected by the other, head tilted into it.
and that was just another thing that pissed him off, he barely got to see ghost’s face when it was being guarded by a teddy bear of all things. god, he’d seen ghost yell at a recruit so badly that the kid had nearly pissed himself, had seen him jump off a building to crush a guy with his weight, and now, he had a bloody bear playing as a guard dog in his bed. it was so ridiculous it made him angry, and the anger only made it more ridiculous— even soap knew that the reaction was disproportionate, but he couldn’t help it.
was it that insane to want to be cuddled with before a teddy bear? was it that ridiculous to be annoyed that his grown man, the one who was so stoic he wouldn’t even call him a boyfriend, who didn’t so much as have a picture up on his bulletin board for decoration, had a cuddly bear who hadn’t gone back into his damn nightstand since soap had first seen it? bunny’s far too new to be a childhood thing, and there’s nothing the toy can do that couldn’t be achieved by a comfortable pillow, or a cushion. ghost’s room is so empty and devoid of life, it seems completely unnecessary, out of place in the middle of everything.
and the thing is, soap knows he’s not perfect. far from it, actually. but soap also knows the thing he likes about ghost is how much he makes soap want to be better, and soap thinks it’s not insane for him to want the same for ghost. ghost’s got plenty of quirky habits: he collects little trinkets from wherever they go and puts them in a shoebox— things like bullet casings and rocks, rubbish to anyone else; ghost thinks his stupid jokes are funny, and seems to learn new ones for the sole purpose of getting under his skin; for fuck’s sake, the guy goes around with a skull taped to his face, and gloves to match.
none of it bothers soap because it doesn’t get in the way of knowing simon, and knowing simon is the very best thing soap can do with his life.
but it’s staring at the ceiling in the dark as ghost wiggles about in bed to get bunny back where he belongs where soap decides he’s had enough of the thing.
he’s jealous of a fucking teddy bear, which is only nearly as ridiculous as competing for attention from a bloody teddy bear.
so, like any rational adult in his position, he decides he has to do something. and, like any rational adult, he decides to ask a friend.
“evans, you pissing idiot! get back to the start line— yes, you, you fucking idiot, don’t just gawk at me like you’ve forgotten your name— get back to the fucking start line, and if i see you pulling any more of that shit again—”
“you aren’t going to intervene?” gaz asks him mildly, as soap sidles up next to him. it’s a day of lovely british weather, which is to say enough rain on the wet field to sustain an aquarium of fish, and the new recruits on the ground are running courses in it. ghost’s ready to strange evans, the wimpiest and most annoying of the set of recruits, and even his skin has gone pink below the balaclava with the force of him yelling— evans is looking up at him like an approaching tank, shaking on his spot.
“why would i intervene?” soap asks, from their vantage point of a little shade by the building. ghost’s only 20 odd feet away, but the rain provides a pleasant bit of cover for the conversation they’re having. soap’s mohawk is getting plastered to his forehead.
“you’re the only one ghost listens to. you’re his keeper,” gaz tells him, nodding as if he agrees with himself. “imagine i told him to relax. i’d be coughing up mud for the week.”
“i’m not his keeper,” soap gripes, rolling his eyes. “but i am enjoying this.”
“evans’ is a smarmy little bastard.”
“slimy fuck,” soap agrees. “him and that stupid hairgel.”
“you in a position to be talking about stupid hair?”
“oi.”
“did you need something?” gaz asks, grinning as he scowls. deciding to let it go, because he’s a bit short on people to ask seeing as the only other people he can ask are his boss or his— whatever the hell he and ghost are.
swallowing his pride, soap sighs.
“yeah, actually. uh— say, you had a girl,” he begins, before promptly getting cut off.
“you’re having girl problems?” gaz asks, and the grin widens in an instant— soap waits exactly that long to give up entirely.
“nevermind.”
“no— no, no,” gaz insists, arm shooting out to catch his— “john, i promise i won’t take the piss. what’s going on? what girl’s giving you problems?”
“it’s—” soap begins, trying as long as he can to skirt around the problem before sighing. “it’s stupid.”
“even better,” gaz replies. “go on.”
“let’s say— let’s say you had a girl,” soap tries again, and the more he speaks, the more stupid he sounds, except for the fact that he’s in far too deep and can’t give up now with ghost now yelling at the group of them in the rain, “and— and say she really liked stuffed animals.”
“stuffed animals?” gaz echoes, frowning. “how old is she?”
“definitely older,” soap rushes to reassure him— and then, realising he overcorrected— “not that much older.”
“about your mum’s age, then? fifty? sixty?”
“gaz.”
“she’s a lovely woman, mate, it’s not an insult,” gaz replies, and he must sense that soap is about ready to leave, because he sighs and lets off— “alright, alright, your girl with the stuffed animals. what’s the problem, then?”
“i think she likes them more than— more than me.”
it must take gaz a biblical amount of effort to keep his face straight. for a very long second, he stares directly into soap’s eyes, like if he lets his face move even a millimetre, he’ll break.
“right,” gaz says, voice shaking with how desperately he is holding it steady. “she likes— stuffed animals more than you.”
“i think she does.”
“why d’you think that?”
“i— i dunno,” soap groans, suddenly frustrated— “we’re in bed together, and then we’re fine, but then she starts cuddling the damn thing to fall asleep, and i’m still bloody lying there! like a piece of furniture!”
gaz suddenly starts choking on a very poorly hidden fit of laughter.
“yeah, alright, alright,” soap sneers, nodding along, “not a word to anyone else, alright?”
“to the grave,” gaz agrees, wiping tears from his eyes. “and— uh, what happens if you take them off of her?”
“take them off of her?” soap parrots incredulously, with a half glance over at ghost, who looks ready to throttle someone. “aye, that’s what i’ll do, get into her bed and snatch the teddy bear out of her arms. that’s a good idea.”
“you can experiment,” gaz insists, rolling his eyes. “just take it off her, and if she can sleep without them, then it’s fine, just ask her to stop. if she can’t, she’s probably crazy, and you’re better off cutting your losses before she kills you and stuffs you, too.”
ghost’s now yelling himself hoarse at another recruit. the rain is coming down so hard the mud has practically made the field smooth.
“great,” soap replies, wiping at his forehead. “so my options are i can either steal the thing from her, or just live like this and hope she doesn’t stuff me.”
“you could always just ask her,” gaz points out, grinning as ghost rounds on the rest of them to finish his rant. “you know. like an adult.”
“and sound like the world’s biggest dick?” soap asks, shooting him a look. “‘aye, i know it’s completely harmless and doesn’t affect me in the slightest, but it’d make me feel a lot better if you burned the thing and threw it into the sea.’”
“you aren’t the world’s biggest anything,” gaz replies, mockingly consoling. “and besides, it’s a bigger dick move to ignore your boyfriend in favour of a damn teddy. how old is she, again?”
“i’m not saying anything to her,” soap decides, throwing his hands up. “how the fuck do i even ask that? no fucking chance.”
“i’m sure you’ll look adorable when she stuffs you,” gaz nodded in agreement. and then, straightening— “alright, sir?”
soap turned, and nearly jumped at the sight of ghost, dripping rain and still breathing hard. the black rainjacket was shiny and the eyelashes that framed deep brown eyes were clumped together with rain.
“fucking idiots,” ghost provided, all the information that they’d get. “what are you two going on about?”
“soap’s having girl problems,” gaz tattled on him immediately. soap shot him a murderous look, batting into his shoulder—
“ow—!”
“fuckin’ bellend,” soap growled, before turning back to ghost. he was regarding him with narrow eyes, head tilted like a puppy.
“she got a problem with the haircut, then?” ghost asked gaz, ignoring soap’s spluttered protests.
“seems so, yeah.”
“word of advice, johnny,” ghost grunted, “just shave it all off. no salvaging that.”
“bile yer heid.”
“fucking gibberish,” ghost sighed in mock exasperation, giving gaz another look. gaz snorted, but ghost just turned and left, shouldering through the door and into the building.
“stuffed animals,” gaz beamed, like christmas had come early. “fucking teddy bears.”
bear, actually, soap corrected in his head as he stalked off.
gaz didn’t get it. of course he didn’t bloody get it, it wasn’t like soap could fault him for it— but talking wasn’t exactly something they did. bunny stayed on the bed with all the fanfare of a blanket, or a pillow, and ghost never gave him an in to talk about it— and even if he did, he wasn’t about to admit he felt like he was coming second to a bloody toy.
he’s lying in bed that night, after ensuring ghost takes back the gibberish comment until they’re both sweaty and exhausted as he considers it.
he hates the thing, fine. but he’s too proud to bring it up, and completely unwilling to make himself look like an idiot as he flounders trying to explain himself to ghost, and so he doesn’t. it’s another night of ghost happily tuckered out and lying in bed besides him, fast asleep with bunny in his arms, and soap turns to him to take every detail of his face.
there’s the crooked nose he’d fallen in love with, broken one too many times to set perfectly straight. the line of his jaw, the one he keeps cleanly shaven to keep it from itching under the mask. the vertical cut through his lips, the little scar under his eyebrow, the short brown hair that sticks up when he falls asleep on his side. softly close eyelids hide the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, and the t-shirt he always sleeps in, the faded man u jersey with the stretched out collar, does nothing to hide his sleeve of tattoos.
maybe it’s a bit too soon to start throwing around the l word, even more so because he isn’t exactly sure if ghost feels the same way. but the knot of emotions in his chest as he takes in every little detail feels a little too close to it, so he glances down at bunny and sighs.
he wasn’t going to bring it up. ghost liked the ratty old thing, so that should have been enough— ghost’s never asked him to get rid of his journal, or the stupid things in his room, or even that worn celtic top he knows he hates, so he’s not in a position to be asking that of him. plenty of soldiers have cuddly blankets and soft toys from childhood, in a profession where they’re desperate for any scrap of comfort they get. he brushes a hand gently across ghost’s cheekbone, before letting it trail down to bunny.
as gaz put it, that left him with two options.
“johnny?”
it took a bit of manoeuvring to get bunny out of ghost’s arms, hindered by the way that a half-awake ghost apparently had the grip of a vice. nevertheless, he managed to get bunny free, and left him on the mattress to squeeze himself into ghost’s arms instead.
“what’re you doing?” ghost asked sleepily, but got his arms around soap all the same— happy with that, soap snuggled into the space.
“what’s it look like i’m doing?”
the huff of amusement from ghost brushed against his scalp, and practically made soap melt. gaz had said he had two options: he could drop it, learn to live with it, and never mention it again, just for the opportunity to spend all his time exactly where he was, warm in ghost’s arms.
“mm— wait.”
“what?” soap blinked, but the next moment, ghost shifted about— a second later, he was left cold as ghost extricated his arms. he lied there, blinking at the ceiling in disbelief as ghost rummaged about in the sheets, bed squeaking and creaking as he did. bunny’s slightly lopsided eyes were watching them from the corner of the bed, and ghost carefully adjusted his torn ear to have it sit properly.
“there,” ghost replied, as if he had said something. “now we can sleep properly.”
he couldn’t even get a cuddle with his bloody whatever-they-were without that stupid bear getting involved somehow. exasperation didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling as he glared at the thing, counting out exactly four minutes—
gaz had said he had two options. he could live with the stupid hunk of polyester forever, or he could just get rid of it for a night and see if it solved any of his problems.
glaring at the thing, soap snatched it up, and threw it on the ground. it landed with that same thud, and in an instant, ghost was blinking himself awake—
“uh—”
“you knocked bunny out of bed?” ghost asked, voice bleary with sleep as he forced his eyes open— “s’alright. happens.”
he even gets a little peck on the cheek for his troubles as ghost leans over him and disturbs him all over again to pick bunny up. he settles back into bed with bunny instead wedged between them, raking lines soothingly up and down soap’s back to put him to sleep.
he lies in bed in disbelief. just ghost, perfectly considerate and kind, fast asleep besides him; just soap, jealous of a fucking bear— and just that stupid bloody stuffed animal that he wants to take a pair of scissors to.
he’s never been good at doing nothing about a problem. so the next day, when price tells him they’re due to be deployed for the next month, he sneaks into ghost’s room an hour before lift-off, removes bunny from the hiding spot he goes in when they’re sent off, and buries him firmly in the back of his own cupboard. ghost sleeps sporadically on the mission like they all do, catching sleep as and when— but in the rare few instances where they were completely alone, he got ghost all to himself, snuggled up next to him as they rested under the stars.
and then, it’s the first night back.
they’ve thoroughly exhausted all the simmering energy they’ve been stifling for the past month, twice over if you count the shower, and now soap is drying his hair on a towel in the mirror as ghost paced the room, getting himself dressed. soap’s got this shine in his eye and his glow in his face and he feels— good, actually, really good. ghost just has this way of making all the jagged, broken, bloodied parts of him feel whole, and there’s a silly little smile on his face as he walks out the bathroom to go find him.
it’s been so long, he’d practically forgotten what he had done until he sees ghost rummaging about frantically in his nightstand.
“you alright, lt?”
“i can’t find him,” ghost grits out, not turning around. soap walks over to the bed and sits down, looking up at him.
“who?”
he’s playing dumb on purpose, but ghost’s so agitated he doesn’t notice.
“bunny— he’s not here,” ghost shakes his head, closing the drawer and stalking to his cupboard— “i moved everything around before we left, and i must have put him somewhere, because he’s not here.”
“can’t you look in the morning?” soap complains, lying back on the bed and propping himself up on an elbow to look up at him. “it’s late.”
“i don’t remember where i put him,” ghost replied, moving on from one shelf and to the other. “he’s always on the bed when i sleep, and i’ve already checked under the bed, and—”
“it’s not going anywhere,” soap tries, and he’s too afraid to acknowledge how guilty he’s starting to feel as ghost gets to the third shelf— “come on, you can look for it later, i’m tired. i want to sleep.”
“he’s always on the bed,” ghost insisted, looking over at his shoulder at him— “i don’t know where he could’ve gone, i’m the only one who ever comes in here, and i would’ve noticed if someone had come in to move everything around—”
“simon,” soap argues, and he’s so scared that his voice will give away his guilt that he forces it into annoyance, forces himself to remember every time he gets woken up by the bear falling out of bed, every time he’d thought it was stupid, “come on. i’ll help you look tomorrow morning.”
“i need him now,” ghost snaps, and maybe it’s the fact he doesn’t like being spoken to like that, or the way he feels so bad he needs to compensate, or just the ridiculousness of the situation finally coming up—
“for fuck’s sake, simon, you don’t need a toy to sleep— you’re a grown man,” soap blurts out, and before he can stop himself— “i’m right here, simon— why the fuck would you rather hold a bear than— than me?”
fine— fine, he’ll admit it. they’re more than fuck-buddies, they’re closer than comrades, they’re closer than friends. soap knows how ghost’s hair feels between his fingers. ghost knows where exactly to scratch down his back to make soap melt. soap knows how ghost takes his tea, and ghost knows soap doesn’t even like tea, but he’ll have any kind of coffee with enough sugar in it. and it doesn’t bother him that ghost won’t name it, it doesn’t bother him that ghost’s never even asked what they are, but it bothers him that he can’t even have eight hours uninterrupted with ghost without a fucking bear between them.
it bothers him that he’s right there and ghost won’t even entertain putting his arms around him until he’s asked. like the entire thing of him spending the night is just ghost entertaining him, like he’s a child. as if once the mission is done and the sex is over, he’s not even worth being properly touched.
ghost blinks, and then straightens. his face does something awful— his eyebrows raise, he frowns, and then his face goes very flat. besides him, the hand he still has in his cupboard freezes, and then drops, curling into and out of a fist in a way that makes him seem younger than he is.
for a second, he’s horrified by the fact that ghost is angry at him. he’s suddenly gripped by the fear that this is the point where he’s too much, where he gets kicked out.
a moment later, he realises what has happened is much, much worse.
ghost is hurt.
“oh,” he says softly, as soap opens and closes his mouth uselessly. “oh.”
he doesn’t know what to say. he doesn’t know what to do— he doesn’t want to take it back, but it’s too late now, and ghost is already approaching the bed. stiffly, he sits down next to soap, and then lies down, moving mechanically.
“simon,” he appeals, to no avail.
“c’mere.”
ghost hits the lights and pulls him close. his arm slots around the small of soap’s back, the other hooked over his shoulders. soap gets pulled into the crook of his neck, and they fit together like puzzle pieces.
soap hates it.
“come on— come on, don’t do this just because you feel like you have to,” soap is borderline pleading, pulling back to restore the space between them— the same mechanical movements pull him back flush against ghost’s chest, ignoring him. “don’t do this because you’re— upset.”
“i’m not upset,” ghost replies, voice so even he can almost convince himself it’s the truth. “you’re right. it’s stupid. it’s childish. i’m a grown man.”
stupid’s not the word he wants to use. it’s not the word soap meant. ghost’s saying exactly what he wanted him to say, and he knows he means it, too, which is what makes it worse.
they don’t talk after that. ghost’s body is warm, the way he holds him steady like an anchor. it’s better than his dreams, and worse than if ghost had just kicked him out.
soap counts out four minutes, and then four more. ghost’s breathing never loses the mechanical rhythm to it, like he’s forcing it even.
the next night they don’t see each other. the night after, they do, but it’s more of the same. ghost doesn’t bring bunny up, so soap doesn’t, either. even without the thudding as it falls out of bed, soap still finds himself waking up at night, varying degrees of entangled into ghost’s arms. it’s never the way ghost holds bunny, and he feels insane for saying it, but it's true— ghost holds soap like he’s the most important thing he has, holds him safe and steady, and yet it’s not the same and he knows it. with the fact ghost’s holding him now, he’s lost the ability to watch ghost while he sleeps, but he’s gotten so used to getting to drink in every little detail of him as he rested that it stings like a loss.
but by far the worst part is the way that soap’s sleep gets disrupted in a completely different way.
aside from bunny falling out of bed, ghost sleeps like a stone. so the third or fourth night, when soap wakes up for no apparent reason, he’s confused— they’re sleeping in soap’s room, instead, and it's much darker, enough that it’s pitch black when he opens his eyes.
it takes him several seconds to realise ghost is barely breathing. he’s lying still and silent, body like a corpse, and when soap reaches for him and his fingers brush the uncovered skin of his side, simon outright shudders.
the movement makes him freeze. ghost’s not supposed to shudder. he’s not supposed to be afraid, let alone of soap— ghost holds his breath when he realises soap’s noticed, but doesn’t relax, so tense besides him he can practically feel it.
“simon?” he asks, a little anxious. there’s a tiny, sharp inhale before the answer sounds.
“johnny?”
it comes out like a question rather than an acknowledgment– as if ghost genuinely might expect him to be someone else. soap blinks, but in the pitch black, can’t even see his face.
“yeah,” he says instead. “it’s me.”
the relief in the exhale that follows is unmistakable, which only brings about more questions. soap can’t bring himself to ask, and ghost doesn’t volunteer, so he settles for pulling them back together by his side again. this time, ghost doesn’t shudder, but his hands stay balled into fists, not touching him directly.
soap is only brave enough to broach the subject once, and ghost swears he is not upset about the loss of bunny in a way that makes sure soap knows any further inquiries aren’t welcome. all the same, his mood deteriorates in the day: he snaps easier, seems unfocused. soap knows it’s disproportionate to the loss of a teddy bear, but can’t help but feel responsible for it– the next night, when he wakes up an hour before ghost to sneak out of his room before anyone else wakes up, he finds ghost having fallen asleep with his back turned to him. he’s right on the edge of the bed, and half curled up like he’d fallen asleep with his arms protecting his head.
he’d never done that when bunny was there, but soap files away the thought. price even goes so far as to ask about ghost’s mood, but for the life of him, soap doesn’t have an answer– it’s exactly what he wanted, and yet soap feels even worse than before. at one point, he goes back to his room and opens his cupboard to stare at the bear– it stares back with those lopsided eyes until soap talks himself out of it, replacing bunny back in his cupboard, buried in a hoodie.
it all comes to a head the next night.
they’re back in soap’s room. it’s pitch black, but the full moon provides a tiny slat of light through the gap in his curtains. his room is a mess, warm and familiar, and he wakes up far too early to a very familiar thud.
“for fuck’s sake…” he hisses, before he realises bunny should still be in his cupboard. he sits up, but the thud sounds again– soap looks down, and realises exactly what it is.
nightmares aren’t uncommon in their line of work. but he’s never seen ghost have one, and much less one like this– he’s curled up like if he takes up as little space as possible, soap might just forget he’s there, and is pressed so far into the wall that every hitch of breath knocks his elbow against it like someone is hitting him. his breath comes in sharp, broken gasps, and it almost sounds like he’s whispering something intelligible.
“ghost?” soap asks, more than a little panicked. ghost isn’t a man who makes himself small, isn’t one who cowers, but in front of him he’s doing exactly that— soap hesitates frantically, unsure of what to do, unsure of how to fix it—
ghost doesn’t have nightmares. ghost is the type of person people have nightmares about, ghost’s the person who holds him through his nightmares, and he feels so useless as he stares at him, finally settling for shaking him out of wherever he is—
“ghost— lt, wake up— it’s alright, wake up—”
when his hands make contact with him, ghost outright whimpers, and it’s like ice water down soap’s spine. he didn’t even know he was capable of the sound.
his face, which he barely sees, is protected so securely in his arms he can’t see it. he runs his hand up and down his shoulder between efforts to wake him up, turns on the light, talks as gently as he can, but nothing seems to be able to stop it, until soap’s hands accidentally brush against a very old scar on his arm.
it’s one of several pockmarked into his upper arm. they’re so old they’re practically invisible, and soap only notices them for the reaction they garner— ghost’s eyes fly open, pupils pinpricks in the light, and for a second, soap doesn’t know who he sees. he reaches a hand towards ghost, and before he can even say anything, ghost’s arms fly up to protect his head from the incoming blow—
“wait— wait, wait, i’ll be quiet, i’ll be quiet—” ghost rushes out as fast as he can manage, voice breaking.
soap goes still.
“simon?” he asks, horrified. for a second, ghost doesn’t even move— but he sees the way his eyes dart around, not looking for him.
whoever, or whatever, he is looking for isn’t there. it takes far too long for recognition to flash across his eyes, for him to look around and see soap.
“johnny?” ghost asks, voice shaking. in a move that makes him seem very young, he peeks at him between his fingers— soap nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
“yeah— it’s me, it’s me, it’s okay,” he soothes, as best as he can manage— “you’re okay, you’re alright.”
ghost doesn’t answer. he wipes his face as subtly as he can, but there’s no hiding the red rimming his eyes as he sits up, looking around.
“did— did i wake you?”
soap stares at him for a second, lost for words. he shakes his head even though they both know the answer, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
“you had a nightmare,” he says uselessly, even as ghost bristles— and then, “since when do you have nightmares?”
“since always,” ghost replies stiffly, leaning over him to switch the lamp off— soap catches his wrist, and ghost rips his hand back.
“no— no, you’ve never had them in front of me before,” soap replies, frowning, “you’ve never had them bad enough to—”
bad enough to start pleading with him for mercy, but soap can’t bring himself to say that. instead, he breaks off, looking away— ghost wipes his face again less subtly, glaring at the wall.
“i’ve always had nightmares,” ghost grits out. “you just never noticed.”
“no fuckin’ way that’s true, lt,” soap snaps, eyes narrowing— “is this why you’ve been off these past few days? ever since— ever since you lost your bear?”
ghost doesn’t answer, but his face colours furiously— it’s too soon after the nightmare, and soap knows that he’s too raw from the adrenaline when he practically shoves him out of the way to get to his feet. soap nearly raises his voice, but suddenly remembers where they are, what they’re doing— instead, he grabs ghost’s wrist, trying to pull him back.
“simon— for fuck’s sake, i’m not making fun of you—“
“this was a bad idea.”
“i’m sorry i asked you to get rid of it— i’ll help you look,” he offers, guilty at the way he knows exactly where it is, “it’s not—”
“no,” ghost snatches back his wrist, grabs his mask, glares down at soap. “this was a bad idea.”
soap’s heart sinks like a stone. he stares, dumbfounded, shakes his head defiantly—
“because of a nightmare?”
“because you only want a fuck,” ghost spits, “you want to blow off steam, because you don’t want to deal with the rest of it—”
the anger splits the next moment, wavering—
“—because you shouldn’t have to deal with the rest of it,” ghost finishes, and there’s so much loathing in his voice it comes out as a snarl. useless, soap blinks at him, but it’s too late— ghost is out of the door, out of his room, out of his life.
soap doesn’t go back to sleep.
he reels like he’s been hit on the head. he lies awake all night, gets through the day in a daze. no one even notices for how much ghost’s mood’s deteriorated. when he walks past his room that night, trying to work up the nerve to talk to him, he can hear him rummaging around.
it’s then that soap understands what he has to do.
bunny comes out of his cupboard with the sewing kit he uses to repair his gear. if there’s one thing soap is, it’s meticulous. he washes bunny out in his sink, scrubbing conditioner through his fur, and dries him with a towel and a hairdryer. he doesn’t think it makes a difference, so for good measure, he brushes out all his fur with a hairbrush until he’s soft to the touch and shining. it takes a few very careful stitches to correct the lopsided eyes, and three attempts before he’s happy with the repair on his ear, until it sits exactly where ghost always puts it. a few seams are about to come apart, so he fixes those too, and for good measure, gently trims the extra fur that falls into bunny’s eyes.
once he’s done, he nearly looks like a new bear. still very much a teddy bear, but careworn instead of just worn. he smells a bit like soap, and somehow, the idea that even if he doesn’t forgive him, ghost might still hold bunny and think of him, eases him in his chest.
he’s never been good at doing nothing about a problem. but it’s very late at night by the time he’s done, and no one is awake— he holds bunny, squeezes him slightly as if to check how it feels, before lifting him up at eye level.
“don’t fuck this up,” he tells him firmly, to which bunny just stares at him.
working up the courage to get to ghost’s door is nearly is too much. he stands by his own door for far too long, holding a teddy bear like an idiot. bunny, for what it was worth, holds his hand all the way through it.
by the time he reaches his door, it’s so late even the automatic lights are off. soap swallows uselessly, trying to get whatever he wants to say in an order where it could pass for coherent.
his hand doesn’t look like his own when he lifts it to knock. there are several seconds after, when he stands in silence, and tries not to shake.
the door swings open, and ghost’s masked face comes into view.
“what?” he snaps, before he spots who it is. “oh.”
“can i come in?” soap blurts out, before he can stop himself. ghost’s eyes narrow, and he’s obviously about to spit out the negative before he catches sight of bunny. he pauses, and his expression darkens in a way soap can’t quite follow.
“yeah,” he says, very stiffly. “come in.”
the door snaps shut behind him. soap doesn’t get much further than the threshold, back to the door. soap stares at him as ghost takes a few steps back, before offering bunny. he holds him out, and ghost snatches him off him— endearingly, he grabs bunny by the arm, as if holding him anywhere else will hurt him.
“where did you find him?” ghost asked, holding him in his arms. bunny stares as ghost waits for the answer, prompting him to be honest.
“the back of my cupboard.”
ghost blinks, frowns as he realises the implications. with the loss of something to hold, soap suddenly feels unmoored. for a split second, he almost wants to ask for bunny back.
“i…” soap begins, swallows again.
“what?”
“i made it sound like you were childish for— for having bunny,” he rushes out, before he can second guess himself. “like it was stupid, and it’s not, because— what’s stupid is hiding a teddy bear because you’re jealous of it.”
“you’re—” ghost repeats, eyes narrowing, “you’re jealous of bunny?”
“yeah— yes, alright? i am,” soap finally admits, and this is going with him to the grave, the ridiculousness of it all almost making him laugh, “i was jealous, i wanted you to hold me instead of— of a teddy bear!”
“so— so why would you not just say that?” ghost replies, perplexed and looking pissed off about it, “why would you just— hide him?”
“because!” soap exclaims, before he remembers how late it is. “because i didn’t want to be the world’s biggest dickhead by bringing it up. you like bunny. and i like you,” he adds, looking up at him and meeting his eye.
they lapse into silence. it’s only the tiniest part of what he wants to say to ghost, but for a second, ghost isn’t listening to him as he examines bunny, gently tracing over the repaired seams, the corrected eye, the reattached ear.
“you fixed him,” ghost says softly, runs a hand over the soft fur. soap nods.
“yeah,” soap agrees. “i did.”
more silence, and the only thing soap can hear is his heart in his throat. ghost’s room is very quiet and very undecorated. bunny is the only personal item in there.
“you aren’t the world’s biggest anything,” ghost tells him finally, looking up at him with those deep brown eyes. soap is so anxious about everything that he chokes on the laugh, coughs. neither of them say anything, until ghost glances behind him to the bed.
“d’you want to—” ghost begins, cradling bunny in one arm. “you want to discuss this more in the morning?”
“please,” soap replies, “yeah.”
and they needed to— they really, really needed to. but he knows ghost needs a second to think about what he wants to say, just like soap. and soap needs a second to work out how exactly he needs to promise him that he wants more than a fuck, he wants all of it, he wants everything and then some, he wants simon riley in his entirety, now and always.
instead, though, ghost lies down and soap wrestles off his boots as fast as he can manage to cross the room and lay down by him. the lights go out and the mask comes off with little fanfare— soap is so desperately happy about the fact that ghost took it off at all that he feels like he could jump out of bed and do a lap of the entire base. when it comes to placing bunny, though, ghost is uncharacteristically hesitant— because he knows him, soap takes bunny off of him, wraps ghost’s arms around him, and then wraps his arms around ghost, pulling them together. a soft chuff of amusement brushes against his neck, and soap doesn’t believe in heaven, but he believes he’s somewhere pretty damn close.
he had a chance. after everything, ghost wasn’t just throwing him to the kerb where he belonged. he had a chance.
“his name’s not bunny,” ghost mumbles finally, settles next to him. soap blinks, and then frowns.
“what?”
“his name’s buddy,” he replies, voice reverberating through them both. “but i misheard the woman in the charity shop, ‘n then i brought him home and read it off the tags, but it was too late.”
“he looks like a bunny,” soap agrees, eyes closing sleepily. the pressure of ghost is like a weighted blanket, and he can’t help but relax under him. “buddy’s a stupid name.”
“i got him when i was— twenty two,” ghost continues, voice going lower with tiredness. “and— i walked past him in the window about four times, ‘cause i was so scared i’d come in and they’d tell me i wasn’t allowed him.”
“twenty-two?” soap asks, feels the way ghost twists to get closer to him. bunny is wedged between them, and he feels the way ghost nods into him, humming the affirmative.
“mhm. my first proper day out,” ghost replies, “‘n i saw him, all alone in the window. and i always wanted one, since i was a kid,” he adds— “you know, a proper teddy bear. like the ones in the storybooks.”
soap’s about to ask why he didn’t just have a teddy bear as a kid, before he realises what he’s saying. instead, he closes his mouth and, instead of anything else, runs his hands up and down ghost’s upper arm. under his fingers, he can feel those scars again, and traces them trying to figure out what they are.
“and— and he helps with the nightmares?” soap asks instead, voice gentle. ghost nods into him, the movement lax with trust.
“he’s not in any of the nightmares. so— so when i wake up, and he’s there, i know it wasn’t real. or i wake up with you, and he’s there, so i know it’s just you.”
just soap— not whoever makes simon shudder when they touch him. not whoever he falls asleep curled up into a ball to protect himself from. they’re cigarette burns, he realises. the little collection of scars, burned into his upper arm, are a set of very old cigarette burns, much too faded to be from his service.
the stupid bear’s been making sure ghost feels safe, making sure soap gets to have all of him. the vision of it flashes across his mind for a second, of a tinier version of simon riley, reading a storybook and wishing for a teddy bear of his own. more than guilt, soap suddenly feels very upset on his behalf— ghost either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, however, so soap buries his nose into ghost’s hair, taking deep breaths of his scent.
“‘m sorry,” he murmurs finally. “i shouldn’t’ve hid him.”
“s’fine,” ghost mumbles in response. “he probably needed a wash anyway.”
the laughter bubbles from nowhere, catching soap off guard— simon doesn’t care, snuggling into him. he realises the difference he had been feeling in the way ghost held bunny and the way he held him: ghost always held soap as if he was keeping him safe from the rest of the world, but bunny was what made sure the nightmares didn’t touch ghost. with him wrapped up in his arms, soap was almost sure this was better than heaven— he runs a hand through ghost’s hair, and for good measure, runs it through bunny’s fur, too.
“i can’t believe you were jealous of a teddy bear,” ghost mumbles, but the teasing in his voice is unmistakable. soap rolls his eyes even though ghost can’t see it.
tomorrow morning, he’ll confess it all. confess how much he loves him, make himself look like a prat if that’s what it takes. if ghost’s managed to forgive him for how much of an idiot he’s already been, then there is a tiny sliver of hope that he might even see past it, too.
“not a word,” soap insists, runs his hand through his hair again. “‘specially not to gaz. he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
“never,” ghost agrees sleepily, and the sound is so endearing that soap can’t help but risk it. he leans forward, brushes his hair back, and very gently plants a kiss to ghost’s head. there’s a heart hammering several moments, but the only answer he gets is ghost pulling them impossibly closer, squeezing into him like he wants to be one—
“love you,” ghost mumbles, very quietly.
soap freezes. he blinks, but ghost doesn’t say it again, doesn’t correct himself, doesn’t take it back, doesn’t do anything— a second later, he realises.
four fucking minutes. ghost’s fast asleep.
they’ll talk in the morning, soap decides. he won’t disturb him now, not when he’s had such a bad several nights of rest.
he can’t believe he hated bunny. after all, they’ve only got the same goal— both of them just want to keep ghost safe. he supposes he can live with that.
the next time bunny falls out of bed, soap is leaning over the edge of the bed to grab him before ghost can even blink himself awake. he replaces him in ghost’s arms before he can stir, planting a kiss to his cheek for his troubles. in response, ghost places bunny in the corner on overwatch so that he can hold soap properly, safe and warm.