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Looking good.
Ghost checked himself out in the mirror, tilting his head as he checked his shave job. It felt like decades since he’d gotten ready for a night out, at least one where he is looking to be presentable.
No mask, no baggy clothes, and no hats to hide behind. He was going to the bar like a normal person for once.
Soap and Gaz had invited him out to the bar earlier; he hadn’t given a definite answer, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought he could have some fun with it. Despite being in the team for two years, he still hadn’t shown them his face.
Showing up to the bar without his mask like it was no big deal felt like the perfect way to reveal it. Just imagining the shock on the two’s faces when they put the pieces together was enough to make him chuckle.
So there he was, making sure he looked nice to not have a horrific first impression. He’d styled his hair a bit, just enough so it didn’t look like it had been flattened under a mask for hours, and picked out nicer clothes, just a long sleeve shirt and some jeans.
Looking in the mirror, he felt a twinge of nervousness. He wasn’t self-conscious, quite the opposite, but he was anxious about Soap’s reaction. That was what really mattered to him. It was obvious Ghost liked the man, he could feel the butterflies in his stomach like he was a teenager every time they spoke, so he wasn’t sure how he’d feel if Soap said anything.
Pushing the feeling down, he ran his fingers through his hair one more time and turned the bathroom lights off. In a quick series of movements, he grabbed his phone, stuffed an emergency mask in his pocket, and left his room.
Now, he just needed to find the two men at the bar. Maybe he’d raise his voice or put on an accent, try to drag the bit on for as long as possible. It made him laugh, the idea of a drunk Soap not recognizing him. It melted any anxiety he still held.
-
Soap drummed his fingers impatiently on the bar counter. Gaz had sent him over to get them another round of drinks, too busy with a stranger he’d met to do it himself. As annoyed as he was, he was glad to be away from the two for a moment.
It was times like this he wished Ghost was less of a hermit. He could handle Gaz’s gag-worthy flirting as long as he had someone else to suffer through it with, someone to laugh at it with. But, no, Ghost had to be a homebody and skip another night out.
He felt lonely; that is until a body slides up next to him.
“Hey.” He could barely hear the man over the sound of the music and the other people in the bar, but he could see the man looking at him.
Well, he could see a massive chest at eye level. The man was fucking massive. Soap hadn’t seen someone that large since Ghost. It left him blinking dumbly. “Uh, hey.”
The man smiled, drawing Soap’s eyes to his face. He was- average. Nothing about him screamed conventionally attractive. He had some interesting scars, his nose looked like it had been broken a few too many times, and he had a cute snaggletooth, but was otherwise unremarkable. Soap still felt a strange pull, though.
Before either of them could say anything, the bartender came back, dropping the two glasses in front of Soap. The stranger took this as his opportunity to order. “Whiskey, neat.” The bartender nodded and moved to grab his order. “Scotch, huh?”
Soap had straightened up to head back to Gaz but paused at the words. His voice tugged at something in the back of his mind, but it was muted by the blaring music and the alcohol. “Aye, better than that sweet shite.”
The man laughed and Soap felt at ease. “Scotch for the Scott, should have known.” His own drink was placed down and he quickly paid before turning back to Soap. “So, you come here often?”
It was horribly cliche, but Soap couldn’t help but laugh. “Aye, I work around here. What about you? You local?”T he man laughed quietly but Soap didn’t know what was so funny. He liked the way it brightened the man’s face, though.
“Something like that.” His eyes flicked down, looking at his arm resting on the bar. “Military man, huh. Do you enjoy it?”
Soap looked up, making eye contact with the man. Pretty. His eyes looked so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place them. “As much as you can love a job.” The two laughed in sync. “Really, though, I do. It’s brought me to some great people, took me to great places, and keeps me moving. Couldn’t ask for anything more.”
“That sounds great. Where’s the favorite place you’ve visited?” Soap wasted no time in recounting his visit to Greece with Ghost for a mission, leaving out the confidential details.
Every time he finished, the man had another question ready, a joke, or a flirtatious comment. Soap loved it. And the longer they talked, the more Soap couldn’t take his eyes off the man.
They fell into a long conversation, everything flowing easily between them. The man was making him laugh, loud and unabashed. He’d forgotten his drink, too enamored with the way the man spoke to him, his eyes locked to his lips to hear him over the noise.
The man took a sip from his drink, finishing it off before looking back at Soap with a smile. It reminded him to drink his. “I love talking with you. There’s something special about you I can’t shake.”
It made Soap’s stomach swoop like he was on a rollercoaster; he couldn’t hide the blush creeping up his face. “Och, aren’t you a sweet talker.” He finished his drink off, too panicked to know what to say.
“Can I buy you another? Maybe something better than scotch. Something… sweeter?” The man smiled at him and Soap knew it was time to wrap it up, as fun as it all was. His heart belonged to Ghost, whether he wanted it to or not.
“Sorry, I’m-” He paused, looking at the man in front of him. “I’m taken.”
He saw the man’s face shift, shock merging into barely concealed hurt and ending in something between apologetic and embarrassed. “Ah, I see. Sorry-” His eyes glanced around nervously. “Lucky- them.”
Soap laughed awkwardly. “Well, I’m the lucky one.” When his mind couldn’t help him lie, he thought of Ghost. “He’s great, makes me feel safe. Wouldn’t know what to do without him.”
The man smiled, strained. “Great.”
They stood awkwardly for a moment, Soap unsure if he should go back to Gaz who had forgotten the drink that Soap still had, too busy kissing a handsome stranger, or if he should stay and try to get the nice conversation he was having back.
There wasn’t any time to decide as the man cleared his throat. “I’m going- gotta go to the loo.”
“Ah, got it.”
Soap watched the man go, weaving through people and turning the corner out of his sight. He felt bad. The man was nice; they were getting along so well, but he wasn’t really looking for something like that. Not when all he could think of was Ghost, sitting back on base.
For a moment, he picked the skin around his nails nervously, checking to see if the man would come back, but when he never resurfaced, Soap bit the bullet and headed back to Gaz. He wasn’t even sure what he expected. Nobody would run back to the person who just turned them down.
Approaching the table, he saw the man Gaz just been snogging getting up, disheveled as he answered a call on his phone. Soap watched him pass as he sat.
“What’d you do to the poor bastard?”
“Nothing he didn’t enjoy.” Gaz looked at him, smug, and Soap wanted to smack the look off his face. “What’d you do to the bloke at the bar? Not interested?”
Sighing, Soap slumped against the table. “No. Not my type.”
“Not Ghost, you mean?”
“Aye.”
“Well, look at it this way-” Gaz took a sip of his drink, room temperature from sitting there. “You aren’t missing much, mate. He wasn’t much of a looker.” Soap hummed noncommittally. He wasn’t conventional, but Soap quite liked him. “I couldn’t see him well from here but even I could tell that much.”
Soap twirled his empty glass lazily. He was about to let it go, but he just couldn’t. “But he was nice, funny. Feel a bit bad about turning him down.”
Gaz nodded. “Well, how’d you do it?”
“I lied, told him I was taken. It was the first fucking thing that came to mind. I was expecting the usual—’I don’t see a ring on your finger’ or ‘She doesn’t have to know’—but he just let it go. Was real nice about it, too.”
“Oh, great, he didn’t get mad at you for saying no. Should we throw him a party?” Soap couldn’t help but laugh. “You weren’t attracted to him and you let him down easy, that’s the best thing you could do. Don’t beat yourself up over it, mate. Always other fish in the sea.”
“Aye.” Gaz had a point, but it still didn’t help the nervous feeling. He hadn’t really felt this way before, not during the other dozens of rejections he’d had to give out, so he wasn’t sure what was so different.
“Come on, Tav. The night’s still young, let’s play some pool. It’ll get your mind off of it.”
He stood, walking towards the table and calling out to the people finishing a game to secure the next round. With a sigh, Soap stood to follow him.
-
In the bathroom, Ghost splashed water over his face. He felt stupid, so incredibly stupid. Of course Soap was taken, who wouldn’t want him? And here he was, flirting with him at a bar like they weren’t teammates. Like he wasn’t his superior officer.
When he’d approached Soap and the man didn’t recognize him, too tipsy to make the connection, he thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to test things. He knew he was interested in Soap, but he wasn’t sure Soap liked him back.
Now, he felt like an absolute moron for ever thinking that could have been the case. Ghost could never show his face again. If Soap made the connection and realized Ghost had been flirting with him, he’d have to go into hiding. Permanently. It’d change their entire dynamic. Who knows if they’d even be able to work on the same team.
He should have aborted the mission when Soap first looked at him, his face and body language uncomfortable and a bit ticked off. Ghost had pushed through it, expecting to quickly reveal his identity so Soap would be comfortable, but when Soap warmed up he forgot about his initial reaction.
If only he’d listened to his gut, he could have saved this entire thing from getting so out of hand.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he could see the emotions plastered on his face, clear as day. Disappointment, embarrassment, betrayal. This is why he hated going without his mask, he couldn’t hide it even if he tried.
Pausing, he contemplated throwing his mask on, something he was planning to do after he’d had his fun—it wasn’t very fun anymore—but now he knew he couldn’t do it. If Soap saw him wearing the mask and wearing the same clothes as he was wearing before, he’d be done for.
So he quietly slipped out of the bathroom, keeping his head low to hide his shame as he made his way towards the door. It felt like everyone was staring at him, like they all knew what happened. It made him sick.
Soap had gone back to his booth with Gaz, right next to the door. Ghost cursed to himself as he tried to evade Gaz’s attention as he passed. There was a small dividing wall between the booth and the entrance, and he quickly moved to hide behind it without being caught. It was like a stealth mission from hell. When he was safely hidden, he took a breath of relief.
“You aren’t missing much, mate. He wasn’t much of a looker.” Ghost’s blood ran cold as he heard Gaz’s voice, barely there under the noise but sounding deafening in Ghost’s ears. “I couldn’t see him well from here but even I could tell that much.”
He waited briefly for Soap to defend him, a small hopeful part of thinking ‘even if he’s taken, he could still think I look good.’ That would have saved some of his dignity from the beating it was getting, but nothing happened. Soap stayed silent and it told Ghost everything he needed to know. Soap thought he was ugly.
As he was about to run, tail tucked between his legs when he heard Soap’s admission across the partition wall, everything grinding to a painful halt. “I lied, told him I was taken.”
It was like a punch to the gut. Soap turned him down because he didn’t like him, because he thought he was ugly. Nothing about him changed, not their easy conversation nor his personality, so either Soap never liked him at all or his face was just that unappealing.
This time he left for good. Anything else they could have said would only have made him feel worse, so he stepped out into the cool night with a quiver of his lip. As he started walking back to the bus stop, he pulled his mask on, roughly, so nobody could see what was going on in his head.
Blinking rapidly and swallowing heavily, he sat alone on the bench. How could he be so stupid? So blindly confident? He should have never taken the mask off.
-
Ghost was back in front of the mirror, half awake. It had been a few days since the bar incident and he’d been fine. Well, trying to be fine. It still stung to think about, but that's why he didn’t think about it; he packed it up neatly in a box and stored it away to deal with later, later when he can get over Soap. It’ll hurt less then.
Picking up his toothbrush, he squeezed toothpaste onto it. He’d been avoiding Soap recently, as much as he could without being obvious. He stayed nice, respectful so Price couldn’t say anything, but otherwise distanced himself.
Lazily brushing his teeth, he let his eyes slip closed sleepily. All he wanted to do was give himself the distance to pull his feelings back from the precipice they were on, if it was even possible, and not jeopardize the unity of their team. They were still partners, after all. On the battlefield, at least.
Spitting the toothpaste out, he washed his mouth and stood back up, catching his eye in the mirror. Was he always so pale? It must have been from the mask; it made him look ghastly in more ways than one. The deep dark circles probably didn’t help, either.
Tilting his head, he looked at his jaw, then his side profile, and pulled back his mouth to look at his teeth for good measure. Was it the scars? He did have a lot of them. Or his eyes? They were bigger than most. His face shape? Nose? Mouth?–
That wasn’t important. His appearance didn’t matter. He’d lived the past several years without caring about the way he looked, even when he felt pretty good about himself. Soap’s opinion didn’t change any of that, shouldn’t change any of that.
But as he finished getting ready for the day, he found himself coming back to it. The way he didn’t seem impressed, the way he lied to get Ghost to leave, the silence when Gaz called him ugly, the eventual admission. The sting was still fresh.
Soap was so- everything . He was attractive on an entirely different level. Ghost felt absolutely insane looking at him, like he was face-to-face with a son of aphrodite. If he was half the artist Soap was, he’d be using the man as a muse, unable to stop painting him over and over again. It felt like none of the words in the English language could express how Soap looked to him.
But that wasn’t how Soap felt. He was speechless, sure, but not for the same reasons. It made sense; someone that radiant shouldn’t be moved by someone like Ghost, but it didn’t stop him from wishing that was the case. Soap found the beauty in everything, his journal proved that a hundred times over, but maybe Ghost was the unlucky exception.
Ignoring the thoughts hounding him, Ghost pulled on his clothes, going for the baggiest clothes he owned. Today was a day he wanted to forget he had a visible form in every way.
When he was dressed, he looked at his masks, sitting on his bureau. Usually, he wears his balaclava around base for comfort, but he found himself grabbing his hard shell mask, typically reserved for missions. The skull obscured what little of his face still showed and didn’t hug his face quite as tightly.
Putting it on, he felt less exposed, but the feeling still lingered.
-
As annoying as it was, Ghost still had to eat. Normally, he would grab a tray and join Soap and Gaz in the officer’s mess room, but that didn’t work anymore. Even if he did want to be around Soap, the thought of moving his mask to eat was far from appealing—not to mention risky.
So instead he got a tray and looked over his options for breakfast, hoping to get in and out as fast as possible. Scooping some scrambled eggs onto a plate, he felt someone bully the man standing next to him out of the way.
“Morning, Si- going for the full reaper look today?” He placed his tray down with a smile, picking up some sausage. “And you’re still wearing a fucking jacket. Hell’s fucking bells, L.T., it’s summer! Fucking sweltering! How are you not melting?”
The man laughed, reaching out for another thing to add to his tray. His smile was dazzling, lighting up his face as he spoke to Ghost. It pulled the corners of his mouth back, pushing his cheeks up so sweetly. He wanted to squish him, wanted to bite him.
He didn’t deserve it.
His smile wasn’t like that, was it? It was crooked, interrupted by scars that pulled at his skin. No wonder Soap didn’t think he was attractive. Maybe he would have been more appealing if he stayed stoic, mysterious.
Registering the question Soap asked a few seconds too late, Ghost shrugged, continuing down the line to fill his plate while Soap followed him, clueless. “Not talkative today, either? Starting to think someone’s taken your voice like that one princess movie… what was it called?”
He grabbed an apple with a sigh. “I’m tired, Soap. Long night.”
“Och, I know how you feel. Last night my neighbor was…” Soap continued to talk as Ghost finished his selection, grabbing a drink before leaving the line. His sergeant stayed hot on his heels, talking all the while, until Ghost started to head towards the exit. “Not eating with us, again?”
“No, I’m heading to my office. I’ve got work to finish.”
As he walked away, Soap’s voice called out. “You need some help? I can-”
“I’ll be fine, Soap. Cheers.”
Soap seemed to take the hint, pouting before walking towards the officer’s mess. Ghost watched him go, aching to reach out. But he couldn’t. Soap didn’t want him, so he owed it to him to get over it. He and Gaz would get to enjoy a meal together, nobody letting their feelings ruin the dynamic or make everyone uncomfortable.
Instead, he was condemned to sit alone in his office. He ate in silence, the sound of rookies training outside and his neighbors taking calls his only company. It’s how it always was, before Soap had come into the picture.
A part of him thought that things could change, but Ghost was never that lucky. Even if he could bottle up his feelings—or better yet, get rid of them entirely—he’d never be able to show his face, even as small of a sliver as needed to eat, at another meal again. His days of eating with them were over.
It was fine. It had to be.
-
The next time he saw Soap was at the gym. Usually, they would work out together at a specific time, but Ghost had been staunchly avoiding the gym around those times. He didn’t want to come up with an excuse to tell Soap no, or worse, he didn’t want to be forced to work out with him.
All he needed was some space. He would let his mind work through the feelings he had for Soap and let them dissipate. When he can stand to be around Soap without his heart clenching painfully, then they can go back to normal. They could hang out, joke, and work out all they want and there will be no rain cloud hanging over him.
In the meantime, he still needed to work out, so he slipped into the gym late in the night. It was mostly empty, just a few stranglers doing their own thing. Nobody to bother him. That was what he thought, until he walked towards the back and noticed a familiar person well into his own workout.
Before he could hide somewhere else, Soap looked up and spotted him. “Ghost! Been wondering when you were working out. Should have figured it would be during the witching hour, you spooky bastard.”
“Soap.” He greeted, standing awkwardly, halfway between running for the hills and sitting down to work out quietly.
In front of him, Soap pulled off his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Normally, seeing the planes of tan skin and thick muscles would send Ghost into a tizzy, making him hot under the collar, but now it made him nauseous.
Soap looked good, too good. He was like a supermodel, all muscle with little fat to cover them. As the man started to talk again, rambling about something Ghost’s ears couldn’t hear over a persistent ringing, Ghost swallowed thickly.
Of course Soap wouldn’t find him attractive. Soap was picture perfect, a sculpted body he put a lot of attention towards just another thing to add to the list. He had a small waist, perfect to slot an arm around or grab, with hips that drew your eyes down-
This wasn’t helping him get over it.
All it did was put Ghost into perspective. He was bulky, strong but with a protective layer of fat over everything. You could barely get your arms around him, and he didn’t have much to show off. That wasn’t something someone like Soap would want, right? Not when he could have anything he wanted, looking like that.
“-I told him to go eff himself as nicely as possible, but he didn’t get the hint. Fucking recruits, aye?“ Ghost zoned back in, feeling like he was going to vomit. “Well, why don’t I spot you, L.T.? Not much left for me to do but I could stay-”
“I’m not doing weights today. Cardio day.” It was a lie. He did cardio the other day, but he’d do it again if it got him away from this nightmare.
Soap’s smile faltered, looking disappointed. Ghost desperately wanted to fix it—it wasn’t Soap’s fault, after all. It was Ghost’s for thinking he had a chance—but he couldn’t, so instead he said a quick, “See ya, Soap,” and doubled back to hop on a treadmill.
If the man was annoyed by his consistent avoidance, he didn’t say anything. He just did his cool down stretches and left to hit the showers. Ghost just kept his eyes forward and shut his brain off as he ran, upping the speed until his lungs were aching for a break.
-
Soap was worried sick. He could tell Ghost was pulling back, inch by inch, and he didn’t know what to do. How could he? He didn’t even know what the problem was. One day they were fine, joking around and spending every free moment together, and now Ghost was gone.
The man didn’t eat with him, didn’t spend his afternoons with him, didn’t work out with him. It was driving him insane. He’d asked the man about it, but all he got was a calm, “It’s nothing, Johnny.”
When he went to complain to Price, all he got was a disgruntled, “Is he interfering with your ability to work? No? Then there’s nothing for me to do. Figure it out on your own or wait for whatever it is to blow over.”
Even Gaz just shrugged his shoulders. Nobody was doing anything about it and he wanted to scream.
Sitting in his room at night, he replayed everything in his mind as he wrote in his journal. He made lists of every interaction he’d had with Ghost before the change in behavior, and he couldn’t come up with anything substantive.
Angrily, he crossed out what he’d written, a rambling stream of consciousness as he tried to find the inciting incident. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be Soap’s fault. It was something Ghost would need to figure out, and hopefully when he was done they could go back to normal.
In the space next to his mutilated writing, Soap started a sketch to clear his head. He wasn’t even sure what it was as he let his hand move freely, but the more his lines built up, the more he recognized it. The man from the bar.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about the man at all since that night; he’d actually thought about him a lot. Their conversation was amazing, so natural and fun, and the more he thought about him, the more the man’s looks grew on him. It had grown into a full blown obsession.
As he sketched him out, he sculpted the curve of his jaw, the line of his strong nose, his soft smile, the creases under those big eyes. It came together into a near perfect replica of the man—what he could remember through the alcohol, at least.
Looking at it, Soap regretted turning him down. He was starting to get butterflies looking at it, remembering the way his eyes lit up when he smiled, the curve of his mouth as he laughed, a hand unconsciously raising to hide it. There was something about him that Soap couldn’t get out of his head.
The way his pale eyelashes fluttered over his cheeks, shining lightly as they caught the dim lights of the bar. His soft cupid’s bow and heart shaped smile. The short, blonde locks. Pale skin that dipped into scars, holding stories Soap wanted to know.
An angel. That’s what he reminded him of, the angels his grandmother had in her house. He’d drawn them so many times as a child, so fascinated by their softness and beauty. Now, he saw that same appeal in some man at the bar. Oh God, what would he look like, draped in white linen?
He started another drawing, trying to remember the way he looked leaning against the bar counter. He was massive, large biceps hid under fabric and a wide chest that strained against his shirt. Good, he would look good in white linen.
As Soap scoured his memory, drawing every inch he could remember, he started to lose his mind. The man was like a Greek statue, painstakingly carved to show the perfection of human physique. It made him want to drool.
But more than that, it made him angry. Angry at himself for turning him down so quickly. Angry at Ghost for being the reason he did it, only to pull away. Angry at Gaz for comforting him instead of forcing him to go find the man again and fix it.
Right now, he could be out at a bar with him again, maybe even out for a nice dinner with good conversation. Instead, he put all his faith in Ghost who turned his back on him. And to think, he was planning on asking him out soon. Now, it felt like he’d fucked up a perfectly good connection for nothing.
Sighing, he finished off another sketch of the mystery man before closing his journal and throwing it onto his bedside table.
Maybe he could go find the man again, tell him he wasn’t taken, that he was just scared of commitment, a little too drunk to think clearly, cursed to turn people down once before he can actually date them. There were a million and one excuses he could think of, but were any of them good enough?
He didn’t want the man to think he was shitty, or flaky, or a liar. Did he already ruin his first impression beyond repair? What was even the likelihood of finding him again?
Groaning in despair, he flopped over to slam his face into his pillow like he was a teenager again. There was only one place he could even hope to see him again.
-
Sitting at the bar alone, Soap looked around nervously. He had a small glass of scotch resting between his hands, untouched so he couldn’t ruin everything again. As much as he wanted to avoid it, though, his anxiety was rising, so he took a sip. Just a small one, hoping to get a little liquid courage to confront his stupid decisions.
His knee was bouncing, slightly shaking the bar stool he was sitting on. It must have been obvious, or maybe his anxiety was obvious on his face, because the bartender walked up to him when he was done with someone else.
“Waiting for someone?” He recognized the man; he was the same bartender that was working the night Soap met his stranger.
“I don’t know. Hoping he comes, but I don’t know if he will.” After a second, he got an idea. “Wait, maybe you’ve seen him. You don’t remember the lad I spoke to weeks ago, do you? Big, brown eyes, blonde hair, built like a brick shithouse?”
“Weeks ago? Fuck I don’t know, mate.” Leaning back, Soap watched the man scan his memory. He mumbled the traits Soap told him over and over again under his breath until a light seemed to spark. “Oh! The Manc lad? Think I remember the two of you talking, yeah.”
Manc? Was he Manc? God, Soap must have been more out of it than he thought if he didn’t even catch onto the accent. And what are the fucking chances. Of all the goddamn places to be from.
“That should be him.” Soap still wasn’t sure, but he’d take it. “Have you seen him since? Or even before then? Or have a name…” Fuck, he really didn’t know anything , did he?
“Can’t say I have. He’s definitely not a regular, might not even be from around here. As for a name…” He wracked his memory again. “He paid in cash and didn’t talk to anyone beside you, so I never caught a name.”
“Fuck me.” He dropped his head into his hands. There was no hope. He’d screwed this all up.
“Sorry, mate. What’s got you searching for him?”
“I turned him down that night and I really fucking regret it. I was hoping to see him again, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Probably not. Your man’s a proper ghost.” He left to go tend to another customer and Soap used the opportunity to shoot his drink back like it was a shot. There was no use staying sober any more.
For the rest of the night, he kept up small talk with the bartender and drank a few beers while watching a rerun game on the TV. And when he went back to base, he cursed himself for the missed opportunity. If Ghost doesn’t get his act together, Soap isn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself for letting the stranger slip through his fingers.
-
It had been weeks and nothing had gotten better. If anything, it’d gotten worse. Ghost was pulling away more and Soap was content to let him go. The man obviously had something he needed to sort out on his own, so there was no use in worrying over it anymore.
It hurt really fucking bad, but there nothing he could do. All he could hope for was that they would eventually get back to normal. He needed them to.
In the meantime, though, Price had him and Gaz packing up his office. Soap wasn’t sure why he was moving to another room in the same building, something about his smoking habits, but his complaints didn’t get him out of the duty. Price had meetings and Soap and Gaz had suspiciously free schedules.
With a sigh, Soap finished packing a box and slid it over to the rest. Hefting up another large box, already packed by Price before, he moved it over to the door, placing it on the growing stack of boxes. Out of curiosity, he opened the top, only closed by folding the flaps under each other.
Inside, everything was covered with a thin layer of dust; it looked like Price hadn’t opened the box since he’d first moved into the office. He could see several awards, a few other sentimental mementos, and, what really interested him, a stack of photographs that were piled on the side. The top one was Price and Laswell, both looking years younger.
“No fucking way.”
Grabbing the stack, Soap sat in one of the chairs strewn across the room and started to sift through them. He heard Gaz pause his mission of boxing up Price’s bookcase to look back at him.
“Seriously, mate? You took a break ten bloody minutes ago to read- are those pictures?” He moved to peer over Soap’s shoulder, completely forgetting his job.
“Aye, look at them. Here’s Laswell, and look at how young Nik is here, and- is that the lad from the bar?” He held the picture closer to his face; it was Price standing with his arm around a familiar face. The man was younger, fresh faced and less scarred. “It is! I didn’t know he was a soldier.”
“With how massive he was, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. Flip it over, see if he wrote anything. Maybe you’ll learn your mystery man’s name.”
Turning it, he saw a short caption in faded, black sharpie, the handwriting unfamiliar. Newly promoted Lieutenant John Price and Sergeant Simon Riley. Congrats lads.
…. Simon Riley. As in, Ghost’s real name?
Soap’s blood ran cold. Gaz seemed to realize it at the same time, sucking air through his teeth. “Fuck, did I call Ghost ugly? You know, I didn’t really mean it-”
“Who gives a fuck about that , Gaz! I fucking turned him down!” He ran a hand through his hair, tightening his grip in annoyance. “My chance was right there and I fucking blew it! Fuck, no wonder he’s been weird lately!”
“Well, it’s an easy fix. Just apologize, tell him it was because you are only interested in him and be done with it.”
“What? No! I can’t just tell him that. What if he’s pissed? Or what if he wasn’t looking for an actual relationship, just a fun night? And, fuck, what if he’s upset we saw the pictures of him? Do we even know if he wanted to be recognized? I mean, why take off his mask in public and not tell us?”
Gaz raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of ‘what if’s,’ mate.”
“Yeah, well this is a delicate situation, Gaz. If I fuck this up any more than it already is, there’s no fucking hope of saving our friendship, and throw out my chances of anything more.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Tav. That’s all my advice, this is all on you now.” Soap went to complain, but Gaz just grabbed another photo from the stack. “No way, is this Farah? She’s bald!”
Knowing he lost Gaz’s attention and thinned his patience, Soap leaned back in his chair and didn’t push it. He’d need to devise the perfect way to tell Ghost he, one, isn’t in a relationship, two, didn’t say he was because he didn’t like him, and three, does actually like Ghost. And he needed to do that all in a way that didn’t turn Ghost off from him completely or revealed he knew .
That’s perfectly doable.
Yeah, fucking, right. He was screwed.
-
Ghost was feeling much better. It took a quick cry he would never admit to and a couple weeks of avoiding Soap, but he’d gotten over it. Or rather, he’d come to terms with it. Sure, it hurt, but it was always the way it was going to go.
One day he’ll die on the field, probably stepping somewhere wrong and being blown to pieces or getting hit by a lucky bullet in the wrong part of his body. He’d die where he was always meant to and Soap would move on.
He’d find someone nice back in Scotland, someone that is attractive to him, someone in his league, and Ghost will be loved by the worms and dirt, six feet underground. That was always how it was supposed to be, how Ghost always saw it happening. He just let himself forget.
Well, he finally remembered where he stood. Soap was his teammate, a companion, a friend. Nothing more, but one day, something less.
Until then, he’d keep it a secret, just another thing he’ll take to his grave. He’d never show his face again and let Soap think he turned down some random dude at a bar. Now, he could stop avoiding Soap. He’d make the most of his time.
For the first time in weeks, he decided to spend his free time outside of his office or personal quarters, opting to sit and read a book in the rec room. For an hour or so, nothing happened. People came and went, none stopping to bother with Ghost.
Eventually, though, he heard a familiar voice approaching. When Soap turned into the room, Gaz behind him, he paused. Smiling nervously, he broke off from Gaz and moved towards Ghost.
“Hey, Ghost.” He stopped at the other end of the couch Ghost was sitting on, seemingly waiting for permission to sit.
“Hey, Johnny.”
The name made him perk up, smiling wide as he took a seat. “How have you been, you bampot.” The man looked like the sun, beaming up at Ghost. He looked so beautiful, but Ghost pushed that thought down along with the knowledge his smile would sour the minute Ghost removed the mask.
“Busy, obviously. Bored as all bloody hell, too. How have you been?”
“Lonely.” He pouted at Ghost, looking up with those bright, puppy dog eyes. It made his heart skip dangerously.
“Sorry, Johnny. I’ll make it up to you some time. Promise.” It made the man smile, and Ghost had to strangle his heart to stop it from betraying him.
“Looking forward to it, L.T.” He went to speak when Gaz’s voice called out to Soap.
“You playing, Tav?” Gaz was at a table with a few other officers, setting up for a game of poker.
“Nah, I’m good.” Turning, he pushed Ghost gently on the shoulder. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on, aye?”
Ghost felt like he was in hell, a beautiful and torturous hell. His lungs struggled to inhale as he looked at the man in front of him, grinning from ear to ear, eyes trained only on him. “Yeah…”
Soap must have taken that as a signal to start unleashing every thought he’d had for the past few weeks because he talked and talked. Ghost gladly listened, adding in when he had something to say.
It almost made it easy to forget everything that happened. Normalcy didn’t seem as impossible as it once did while they sat and talked. As long as Ghost didn’t think too hard, it felt like nothing had even changed.
But just as he settled into the feeling, believing he finally had his feelings under control, Soap changed the conversation.
“Och, you know, one of my cousins is getting married in a month and my ma is nagging me about bringing a plus one to the wedding. She still doesn’t believe I’m single. Think she’s scared I’m going to die alone at this point.”
This was not what Ghost wanted to talk about after fighting tooth and nail to stop thinking about Soap and romance, but he’d push through. If he can do this, nothing else will make him break. So, he chuckled and threw in his typical jokes.
“Single? You? Can’t imagine why. Is your loud mouth and quick temper not a strong enough draw to make up for your face?” Soap smiled despite the slight.
“Oh, go do one, you bastard. I’ll have you know I get plenty of people begging to get with me. I’m just not interested.” He did know, a little too well. The last thing he needed was a reminder.
Still, curiosity got the best of him. “Not interested in anyone or just the people you attract?”
“A little of both.” Ghost understood how it killed that goddamn cat. “Relationships and the special forces don’t tend to work well. Probably wouldn’t mind being with someone in the force, though. Nobody understands us better than us, aye?”
Ghost nodded casually while his teeth ground together painfully. “Would be hard finding someone attractive enough in the SAS. Slim pickings, innit.” His words tasted sour in his mouth, but if Soap noticed the edge he didn’t show it.
Raising his voice loud enough for the poker table to hear, he joked, “Well, we’ve got Gaz on staff so anything’s possible.” It had the intended effect, making Gaz turn to tease him. The two were laughing, but Ghost’s nails were digging painfully into the skin of his thighs.
It felt like every little thing was bringing him back to that night. They were lucky to have Gaz, looking more like a model than a soldier. They were lucky to have Soap, handsome enough to start wars over. Seems Price ran out of all the luck when it came to picking Ghost.
Soap turned back to him to talk, forcing Ghost out of his thoughts. He couldn’t let this affect him so much. He had to get over it. For him and for Johnny.
Their conversation picked up again, Soap looking happier than before. It took everything in Ghost not to jump out the window and run into the forest, away from the man who didn’t even know he was taunting him.
He found it harder and harder to keep conversation up as his self-deprecating thoughts stewed violently in his head. Soap must have noticed, wrapping up his story about Gaz getting his leg trapped in the rope section of the training course, and calling it a night.
They walked quietly to their respective rooms, branching off halfway through. It left Ghost alone to review his performance. It was a few inches from complete failure, but he held it together. It was all going well until Soap started talking about his romantic life.
As long as that never comes up again, he should be fine. The feelings will fade when his heart realizes it wasn’t meant to be or his brain beats it into understanding that. When he got back to his room he threw himself onto the bed with a groan.
This was a nightmare.
-
The minute the door to Soap’s place closed, he was kicking and punching the air in excitement. “Let’s fucking go!”
He’d fucking done it. He’d told Ghost he was single, the reason why he’d turn down a stranger, and hinted at being interested in him all in one swing. And Ghost was finally talking to him like normal.
God, he forgot how much he loved hearing Ghost call him Johnny. He’d hated that nickname for most of his life, but hearing it come from his mouth felt like a divine gift.
Collapsing onto his bed, he let out a sigh of relief. It was going to be okay. Their friendship was intact and now that Soap knew Ghost liked him, he felt less scared about his feelings. It would take some time to get back to where they were before, but they’d make it there and Ghost would finally be his.
Smiling into his pillow, he thought about the man. Would he be able to see his face again soon? He wanted to burn it into his memory so he’d never forget it, so he could draw it with his eyes closed. The thought excited him to no end.
Everything felt like a dream.
-
Things were going perfectly for the weeks following their conversation. Ghost was acting normal, engaging with Soap and spending time with him. They’d gone back to exercising together and Soap spent most of his free time in Ghost’s room or office.
The only thing that stayed was Ghost’s refusal to eat with them. Soap understood; Ghost still didn’t know Soap knew it was him so he wouldn’t want to risk him figuring it out, but it was still infuriating. He’d tried dropping hints to make him comfortable, but it never seemed to work.
With the mask he’d been wearing, he could probably just sneak the food under the fabric and be fine, but Ghost still refused. Soap eventually let it go, too scared to push and scare Ghost away again,
Knowing what was going on, though, Soap was increasingly antsy to ask Ghost out. The faster he did it, the faster he could get Ghost back for meals, not to mention all the other privileges it would earn him.
He had it all planned, a nice dinner at a not-too-fancy place in town, maybe a walk around the neighborhood, he’d buy Ghost a gift to remember the day, and they’d kiss at the end. It was picture perfect, and Soap was going to make it his.
Sitting in Ghost’s office as he finished up a discipline report for a rowdy private, he waited patiently for the man to finish. As he did, he fidgeted nervously with a pen he stole from Ghost’s desk and paced the room, looking at the shelves for the millionth time.
Ghost’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “You’re more twitchy than normal, Johnny. What’s the matter?”
Taking a deep breath, he figured it was now or never. He already knew Ghost liked him, so he wasn’t sure what made him so nervous.
Turning to the man, he smiled. “I just wanted to ask you something, Si.” When Ghost nodded, he continued. “I wanted to know if you wanted to go out to dinner with me sometime. We can make a night of it, just me and you-”
“Negative.”
Everything stopped. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Soap, but I’m not interested.”
This- this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to be slurping up the same strand of spaghetti or spoon-feeding each other a shared dessert. What the fuck was this ?
“Are you taking the fucking piss, sir?”
Ghost sat back in his chair, expression unreadable under that fucking skull mask. “Afraid not, sergeant. I’m sure someone else will be happy with the invitation, though. Good luck.”
Soap was stunned, standing lost in the middle of Ghost’s office. “That’s not- what the fuck do you mean no? I thought you liked me?”
He could see Ghost trying to formulate a response when it clicked. Ghost never liked him, not the way Soap did, at least. He only wanted a quick fuck or bragging rights, maybe just wanted to get his sexual attraction to Soap out of his system without repercussions. It was never about being in love with him.
“No, I don’t need to hear it. Respectfully, you can go fuck yourself, sir.” He started to pick up his belongings, ready to leave, when Ghost stood up.
“Johnny, wait-”
“Fucking- haud your wheeshit, Ghost! I said I don’t want to hear it! You- I’m- This was mistake.” Moving to the door, he opened it, “I hope you’re fucking happy, you bastard,” and slammed it shut behind him.
He couldn’t fucking believe it. All that stress over a man who never even cared about him. He hid his face so he could use it against Soap, to get him in bed unaware. It was fucked up and Soap wanted nothing to do with it.
How could someone that beautiful be so cruel?
-
Ghost couldn’t do this anymore. At least when he was rejected, he wasn’t a complete dick about it. He was upset, sure, but he didn’t push that hurt onto everyone else. He dealt with it alone like an adult and still behaved around everyone, even Soap.
Soap, on the other hand, was a complete arsehole about it. He’d been snappy the past few days. Ghost couldn’t even get a word in without the man making a passive aggressive joke here, a snide remark there.
It would be fine if he was just acting like that with Ghost, but he wasn’t. He was being a cunt to everyone else, too. Every little thing set him off, yelling, berating people, nearly getting into fights. Everyone on base was avoiding him, whispering about the friendly sergeant’s sudden blow up.
Gaz wasn’t even safe. If anything, he seemed to be getting just as much heat as Ghost was. And when his patience hit its peak on the fourth day, he pulled Ghost aside. “I don’t know what the bloody hell you did to him, but I need you to fix it before he actually bites my head off, mate.”
Ghost didn’t even have anything to say, just nodded his head and walked off. If Soap was going to continue taking this out on everyone else, he was going to stop this. It started between the two of them, and that's how he wanted it to end.
In front of Soap’s door, he wasted no time in knocking, maybe a bit harder than he needed to. “Open up, Johnny. We need to talk.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
Rolling his eyes, he waited a few seconds. When Soap made no attempts to open the door, he tried the handle. Locked. “Open the bloody door, Soap.”
“No.”
“ No !? Stop being a child, you prick, and open the door.” Another moment of silence, “That’s an order, sergeant!”
“Oh fuck off .” Despite the man’s obvious displeasure, Ghost could still hear the sounds of shuffling on the other side of the door. Soon, the door’s lock was clicking and the door was pushed open. “What the fuck do you wa-”
With a rough push to Soap’s chest, sending him back into his room, Ghost walked inside and shut the door behind him. “I want to talk about your behavior. This was our issue to deal with but you’re being an absolute twat to everyone else. You need to knock it off before Price’s patience runs out.”
Ghost could hear the sneer in Soap’s voice without even needing to look at his face. “Oh thanks, sir, I really needed to hear that. Let me just get over this real quick- yeah fucking right, you dobber! Why should I act all cheery when I have a prick for a lieutenant?”
“For fuck’s sake, Soap, maybe you should just get over it. I know rejection sucks, but that doesn’t mean you get to be an absolute tosser to everyone you cross! You’re like a bloody child.”
“Easy enough for you to say! You’re the fucking cunt who made a move on me just to reject me when I actually ask you out! Were you just looking for a quick shag? Trying to get in my pants to try it out, hoping I wouldn’t know it was you?”
Ghost swallowed hard. He didn’t know Soap knew. But if that was the case, two can play at this game. “Oh, bloody hell- what are you on about? I talk to you at a bar and I have to be looking to fuck you? You think I’m just a fucking slag? At least I’m not shallow enough to turn someone down just because they don’t look how you want!”
Soap’s anger faltered just enough to let genuine confusion through, “What?”
“Don’t give me that. I heard you and Gaz talking about me. I was doing you a solid by not sticking you with someone who ‘isn’t much of a looker.’” Soap’s face dropped in horror. “I’m sorry I have enough self respect to not run back to the man that thinks I’m bloody ugly the minute he decides he likes me back. Go find some other ugly lad to fuck and stop acting like a bloody prick to every poor lad on base.”
“Wait, Ghost it’s not-” Soap tried to speak but he was already heading back towards the door. “No, hold on! We’re not done here, let me explain!”
“I don’t need your explanation-”
He grabbed Ghost’s shoulder, wrenching him back to face him. “I don’t care! I don’t think you’re ugly, Simon-”
“Don’t call me that.”
Soap flinched. “I mean it, Ghost. I turned you down because I didn’t know it was you, because I didn’t think it was you. I really fucking want you, and nothing changed because of your face. And I swear I don’t think you're ugly, Gaz was just trying to cheer me up because I hated having to turn you down.”
He looked up at Ghost sincerely, so sincerely Ghost almost believed him. But how could he? Ghost was nothing compared to Soap. It was just pity making him say that. “Okay.”
The man looked crushed in front of him. “You don’t believe me.” Ghost just shrugged noncommittally. “Hold on- sit down.” Ghost contemplated running as Soap turned around to rummage around his desk, but Soap read his mind. “Sit, Ghost!”
Nervously, he did as he was told, taking a seat on Soap’s bed. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, Ghost just wanted to leave and lick his wounds. All his work trying to get over everything was destroyed with one confrontation.
When Soap turned around, his journal in hand, Ghost’s nervousness grew. “What are you doing?”
“Look at it.” Flipping to a page, Soap held the journal out. He refused to let anyone see it the entire time Ghost had known him; even with permission, he felt like it was an invasion of the man’s privacy. When it was shoved into his hands, though, he gave in.
Looking down, he saw- drawings. Several drawings of a man. It took him a minute to recognize it was him . Standing at the bar, laughing, smiling at the viewer, drinking from his glass, talking to the bartender, pouting at something. Flipping the page, there were more of him, sketches of his face as Soap tried to get it right next to drawings of him in his mask.
They weren’t just drawings, though, they felt reverent, like votive offerings. The curves of his face were drawn with painstaking detail, every dip softly carved in shadow and highlight built up over time. He could feel Soap’s emotions in every line, the desire to bring Ghost to life and preserve it perfectly on the page.
Every detail he’d stared at in the mirror for the past few weeks and judged was carefully placed, intentionally added with care. When he looked at himself on the page, he could barely recognize himself, not because Soap didn’t capture him right, but because he’d never seen himself so- beautiful.
Next to a drawing, he saw scribbled handwriting. Can’t get his jawline right, fuck. Not doing him justice. Shouldn’t have turned him down, I’d have the perfect model.
“Believe me now?”
“I- I don’t know what this means.” In the back of his mind, he did. He could see the affection in every drop of ink, but it was so unbelievable he didn’t know what could convince him it was all true.
“What it means is, I think you’re stunning, Simon. I thought you were before I even knew it was you, and I thought it before you even took the mask off.” Gently taking the book out of his hands, Soap stood between his legs. “It means I should have never let you think you weren’t attractive, that you weren’t what I wanted. And if Gaz wasn’t my friend, I’d have his head for calling you anything but jaw dropping.”
Ghost’s hands were shaking as he dropped them to his knees. It all felt unreal. “I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s fine, you don’t have to say anything. Can I see your bonnie face again?”
Ghost was hesitant. His mind replayed the face Soap made when he first saw him, indifference and some slight discomfort, but he didn’t stop Soap as his hands slowly slid up his neck, under the mask, and over his jawline. His stomach turned in anxiety as he felt the fabric slowly lift over his face.
When it cleared his eyes, though, he opened them to see Soap staring at him, adoration clear in every one of his features. The mask was dropped onto the bed, forgotten as Soap cupped his face. “Just as handsome as I remembered.”
Looking away in embarrassment, Ghost tried to hide the fluster creeping up his cheeks. It was starting to sink in that this was reality. “Suck up.”
“Not sucking up, sir, just telling the truth.” Turning Ghost’s face back to his, Soap smiled gently. “Let me show you.”
Before he could say anything, Soap was leaning in, pressing in to kiss his forehead. “I love the wrinkles you get when you are thinking really hard, the crease in your eyebrows.” Moving down, he pressed a kiss on each of his eyelids. “And I love your eyes. The way I can see everything you're feeling through them, the way they crinkle when you smile or darken when you're serious.”
“Johnny…” Flustered, it was the only he could get out before Soap continued on his quest.
Next he trailed his lips gently down his cheekbones. “And I love your cheeks.” And kept going, lips light against his skin. “And your jawline.” Moving back up, he ghosted over his nose bridge. “And the curve of your nose.”
Finally, he stopped, centimeters from Ghost’s lips. “And I love your stupid, British mouth.” He should feel offended, but all he could hear was his heartbeat hammering in his chest. “Can I?”
Desperate, pleading, Ghost wasted no time answering. “Please.”
Before he could even finish, Soap’s mouth was crashing into his. With a hand at the back of Ghost's head, he pushed their faces together, almost like he was trying to merge them together. His lips moved with purpose, every word proven in the love he poured into the movement.
Ghost melted into it, letting his hands cradle Soap’s as he tried to keep up with his hungry mouth. It felt like a dream. If he couldn’t feel everything, he wasn’t sure he’d think it wasn’t all in his imagination. Not when someone as beautiful as Soap was kissing him like it was his life’s purpose.
When their air ran out, Soap pulled back, tugging on Ghost’s bottom lip gently as he did. “Bleeding Jesus, I’ve been dreaming of that for too fucking long.” He smiled widely, lips wet; his eyes shone, almost impossible to see behind his flustered cheeks.
Ghost blinked dumbly up at the man. “Did I die and go to heaven?”
Soap looked down at him, running a hand through his hair. “That should be my line.”
He still couldn’t believe it. Soap liked him. Soap thought he was attractive, handsome, beautiful, even. The man carved gently from the hands of Venus, sea foam shaped into an ethereal beauty, thought he was worth looking at, let alone worth loving.
That same man leaned back down the moment he could breathe again, pressing close to Ghost for another deep kiss. Every thought melted away as he kissed back. None of that mattered, really. All that mattered was he had Soap, and he wanted to keep it that way.
When Soap pressed him down onto the bed, he went without resistance. He’d spend his entire life worshiping the man if he could, and he’d give the man whatever he wanted without batting an eye.
Soap’s hands slid under his shirt and he realized that he wasn’t the only worshiper in the room. The man meant every word he said about loving Ghost, and he was about to prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
-
Distantly, he could hear the sound of birds outside and feel morning sun on his back. Neither of those are what woke him up, though. The feeling of tender kisses being peppered across his face slowly brought him to consciousness.
“Johnny.” He slurred the man’s name out through layers of sleep. He could hear him laugh against his skin.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
Blinking his eyes open, he looked around sleepily. They were in their room, at their home while in between missions. Looking over at his alarm clock, he saw he’d slept in later than he normally would.
“I made breakfast. You looked too peaceful to wake up, but it’s starting to go cold, doll.”
Dragging himself up and out of bed, Simon stretched his back out. He could feel Johnny’s eyes burning a hole in his back. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“Hmm, I think I’ll paint it instead. You look too good not to.”
Walking past the man, still sitting on the edge of the bed, he ruffled his hair lightly. “Going to paint me like one of your french girls, love?”
As he walked out of the room, he heard his boyfriend call out behind him. “Going to paint you better than the french girls.” It made him chuckle, voice still gravelly from sleep.
He ate quickly, not savoring the food like he would when the other man was sitting and eating with him. When he was done, he cleaned up and set the kettle on the stove for their morning drinks. Johnny likely had his first cup already, but he’d never say no to another.
WIth a fresh cup of tea in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other one, he left the kitchen and bumped the door to Johnny’s office open. The man was at his desk, sketching something with quiet music playing in the background.
On the easel was a half-finished oil painting of Simon, nude and peaceful in a bed of blankets. He could remember posing for Soap for the photograph he’d been using to paint it. It took some begging to get Simon to agree, the man still a bit too self conscious for it, but he eventually relented. Looking at it, he wasn’t sure how he could be self conscious when someone sees him like that.
Standing over Johnny, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss against his head before placing the coffee down for him. “Thank you, Si.”
Above his desk, two paintings were hung up; one of Johnny made by Simon and one of Simon made by Johnny. Johnny made him do it one night, setting up the supplies on their dining table. They drank, laughed, and painted each other. Johnny’s looked as beautiful as always, painting Simon in excruciating, loving detail. Simon insisted his didn’t look that good, he wasn’t an artist after all, but Johnny still loved it, hanging it up next to his masterpiece.
Looking at them now, he couldn’t help but smile. Their feelings for each other were mixed in the dried paint, obvious to him now.
“Everything okay, Si?”
“Everything’s perfect, Johnny.”
The man smiled up at him, radiant in the morning light, and Simon still couldn’t find the right words to describe the beauty he saw. Looking down, he spotted Johnny’s drawing of him from that morning, sleeping lazily, sprawled across the bed. He wasn’t sure, but the words he’d use probably sounded something like the way Johnny drew him.