Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the weird hour between late at night and early in the morning when Simon woke up. He was a victim of the regular nightmares that come with years of military life. He could move countries, houses, rooms, beds, but he’d always wake up the same- sweaty, heart pounding, momentarily back on the field. Sometimes it was over the moment he sat up, sometimes it would linger for hours, maybe days, the lines between the past and the present blurring when he stared too hard in the mirror or at that photo that he kept in his pocket. He didn’t always know if it was bad. Maybe it would be better to go back. To be with them, Price, Gaz, Roach. Soap.

He dragged a hand down his face and wiped his wet hand on the sheets, glancing at the clock as he sat on the edge of the bed. At least in the barracks he’d have a light outside his door. Not like here. Not like this empty place. Years had gone by and it still looked as empty and soulless as when he’d first reluctantly made this address the one that all his mail got addressed to.

He stared at the floor. Fake wood. The door to his left, the one that led to the rest of the house was shut and locked, like always. The crack under the door was void of light and somehow another painful reminder of what he no longer had. Behind that door was nothing. Emptiness that he’d grown accustomed to, not by choice but by five years of trying to cope with getting kicked out of the only life he’d known.

He stood up and threw on one of the many pairs of the same black sweatpants and sweatshirts he owned. In the bathroom he avoided the mirror, pointedly staring at the dried blood that he really should clean soon. In his defense, it’s not like anyone is gonna see it. The kitchen light stays off in favor of the less harsh stove light, not needing to be fully illuminated while eating some flavorless protein bar at 3:54 in the damn morning.

24 hour gyms were something that Simon was admittedly grateful for. It meant that on nights like these he could take it all out on a punching bag or by running until his lungs burned and his legs felt like they’d give out. It meant he didn’t have to curl up in the corner of his bedroom and think for hours until it was socially acceptable to do something. Anything.

Another plus being that most sane people aren’t awake or at least at the gym when he is, and he doesn’t have to waste nearly as much time wondering if the guy with his hood up is here to finally do him in. It also means if he ends up staring at the wall for a little too long, no one’s around to give him shit.
Today the punching bag is his target. The nightmare was a rarer one, the kind that made it harder to come back. The only thing that sometimes worked was when it hurt, when he could feel the skin on his knuckles breaking against the bag. It snapped him back, in some sick way. The fear forced him to be real. And so that’s what he did, dropping his water bottle next to his salvation and letting his gaze linger on the boxing gloves. Eventually, going without would fuck him up. But why would he care? 23 years in the military had done more damage than a bag filled with sand. Regardless, he didn’t care enough to not welcome his own destruction. There were worse things he could be doing- not like anyone knew or cared this way or that. When he left, they tried to keep in touch. Good friends, good colleagues. A call once in a while, texts asking how it’s going.

He readied his stance.

But it’s hard. They still had missions, assignments he was no longer privy to.

One. Two.

They inevitably drifted apart. And fuck, it’s not like he tried to stop it. God, maybe he wanted it. It’s easier to disappear when no one notices you’re there. Like a Ghost.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He still has their contacts. Same phone. Same number. It’s not like he’s forgotten them. Forgotten him.

One. Two. Jab.

Not like he’s forgotten him.

A particularly hard punch and he feels the skin on his middle finger knuckle tear, not hesitating before going again, relishing in the distraction. The blood is slow to come, and doesn’t show on the black bag. You’d never really notice if it wasn’t sleek and shiny.

Eventually he stops, breaths rapid and shallow. He can’t tell if it’s enough, can’t yet tell if the strange feeling of being not quite there is gone, but even after two decades of spilling blood he’s still not particularly eager to clean more than needed. He stalks over to the standard gym issue cleaner and sprays a generous amount on what could be a fourth of the paper towel roll. He wipes all the evidence of his session off of the bag, tossing the bloody paper towels into the nearest trash can as he makes his way to the locker room. They have sinks, and that’s all he really needs to clean the blood from his hands. The physical blood, anyways.

A quick wash and a pat down before winding some medical tape over gauze. It’s good enough for him. Not like he hasn’t made do with less.

By the time he’s going back home, the sun isn’t up, but its light is starting to brighten the night sky. There’s maybe two or three people on the street at this time, early morning joggers or people taking their dogs for walks. It’s dark enough that you can maybe see a few details, guess the color of their jacket or whether they’re male or female. So when Simon sees someone on the street corner with a ridiculous, painfully familiar haircut he can’t see them well enough to know if it’s him. He can only shrug it off as a cruel joke his mind is playing on him, a common one. He’ll see Johnny everywhere. The store clerk’s eyes look strikingly similar. He could’ve sworn the man on the bus had the same jacket. Sometimes he’ll hear a laugh and he’ll look around with his heart half full of hope only for his eyes to land on someone who most certainly isn’t Soap. Sometimes it’s not even a person. The flicker of John was just a hallucination, a trick of the mind. But never, ever, do they look at him. Not like that one is.

So he’s going even more insane.

He refuses to look back until he’s shut the door to his apartment behind him.

Chapter Text

John MacTavish let himself stare at the man on the motorbike. It reminded him of the vaguely of the bike Simon used to talk about wanting, the one he always said he’d get when he retired. John hoped that he had.

He’d only come to Manchester because that’s where Simon had gone, all those years ago when the higher-ups decided he was no longer useful to them. Where Simon was now, he had no clue. It had been too hard for John, to keep Simon at arm’s distance but to try and simultaneously keep him close enough, and eventually the half-assed conversations between them stopped. And now it’d been what, two years? He didn’t even know if Simon lived in Manchester anymore, and if he did, where. He didn’t know if Simon would even talk to him, if John could find him. Surely he had other friends, a life. He must’ve moved on by now.
John exhaled and watched as his breath floated away from him in a cloud, waiting until it disappeared before turning and walking whatever way the GPS told him to. He’d never been here, to Manchester, before. He never thought it appropriate to intrude on what felt like Simon’s privacy. And yeah, maybe he regretted it. Maybe he wished sometimes he’d pushed a bit harder, inserted himself more prominently into Simon’s life. Maybe things would’ve been different if he had.

But he hadn’t. And now his lack of foresight to at least ask where Simon lived, back when they used to talk, was biting him in the ass. He honestly wasn’t sure if it would’ve been weirder to show up at his house instead of wandering around the town like he was now. But he had no choice now. He’d boarded the plane here. Told his family he’d found a place. Did they probably think he’d finally found himself a lass? Yeah. Did he want them to know the truth, that he’d flown out to a random city with no board, job, or idea of what to do, just the memories of an old… friend who’d once lived here? …no, he most definitely did not.
Wait.
Fuck.
What if Simon actually didn’t live here anymore?

//////

When John finally dragged himself into a crappy hotel room at around 6 that morning, the cheap mattress looked and felt like the equivalent of the finest sleep money could buy. Cheek pressed against the rough sheets, John closed his eyes and pretend-sobbed, his current situation somewhat hilarious. He was too damn old for chasing down old crushes who he was less than friends with.
He didn’t even get his shoes off before he passed out face-first on the bed.

☠

Simon was staring at a photo. He wasn’t particularly fond of photographs, never liked having to look at himself. So why he had this one was a question even he didn’t have an answer for. It was the one photo he’d taken with Soap, the one photo Ghost had ever really had. He loved it, though. Despite the fact the mask he’d always worn wasn’t present, despite the fact he looked stupid as shit. He loved Johnny. The way he looked in it, obviously. Not, like, Johnny Johnny. Whatever. He narrowed his eyes, stuffing the photo back in his pocket.

And he wasn’t thinking about the photo.

He wasn’t thinking about the way it had been an unplanned photo, so there was no way that Johnny had been looking at him like that just to be funny.

He wasn’t thinking about the way he’d never seen that look on Johnny’s face, not even when he’d ramble on about the most recent explosive he’d been tasked with disarming.

He wasn’t thinking about how bad he wished he’d been paying more attention, how he wished he’d seen Johnny’s face in that moment and not years later on a worn and torn picture he just might consider his most prized possession.

He wasn’t. And so when he shuddered as he stepped into the shower, it was because the freezing water sent a shock down his spine, and not the idea of an old friend sharing this suddenly too-large shower with him.

He didn’t know what he would do today. He should probably clean the sink of the blood that still remained from a particularly bad night, but every time he thought about it, his stomach churned and he felt like the pathetic teenager with too many feelings and no way to get them out.

Maybe he’d go to breakfast. There was a new bakery a few blocks away, Simon always passed it when headed to the gym. He would never consider himself a baker, but sometimes he found himself browsing social media for the sole purpose of finding outrageously extravagant recipes that seem delicious but not at all worth the effort. Besides, who didn’t appreciate the smell of fresh-baked cookies and brownies? Recently, bread had started to sound appealing. Maybe he could browse the options, take a few home and see if any seemed easy enough to attempt to make at home.

A bit of struggling to remember the name of the bakery and then fighting the maps app later, and Simon had discovered that the shop was a 10 minute walk away, and opened in an hour. Not wanting to spend much longer in the empty place he called his apartment, he changed into more socially-acceptable clothing with the plan of wandering the park not too far away from the bakery he’d decided to visit later.

Nature had become something that Simon had discovered a passion for after leaving the 141 behind. While running for your life or constantly scanning for possible threats, it’s hard to appreciate the strong trees, the persistent plants, and the beauty of the Earth. While no city, town, state, or country for that fact, would ever be completely free of crime, it was much easier to relax while not in active combat. Nowadays he would sit for hours on an uncomfortable wood bench and just watch. He had good patience, and to watch the world move on without requiring him to do anything was… nothing short of amazing. The ducks in the small pond could not care less about him, and Simon loved that. Even just watching the trees and the way they moved and shifted almost as if they were one was something he could never see himself growing sick of.

Music was another thing he’d never considered as a thing he partook in. On base, you were either busy or with someone, and listening to music was just not something necessary or common. As a civilian, music was the one thing he could turn to when the silence became too pressing. He hadn’t really ventured farther than the bands Price had recommended- ones like The Smiths, The Violent Femmes, The Offspring. Simon knew what he liked, and he found no reason to stray from that.

Music was also handy for acting oblivious when people were incapable of realizing Simon wanted to be alone. He stared at the woman in front of him, her lipstick too bright for the rest of her look. Simon thought it made her look like a clown. He gestured to the earphones he was wearing, giving a half-assed apologetic look. She didn’t get the hint.

The walk to the bakery had been fine- good, actually. The songs that been playing on shuffle had been some of his favorites, and the temperature was not too cold, not too hot- perfect for a morning walk. He’d arrived shortly after the bakery had opened, pleasantly discovering that they sold coffees and other munch-able items. He’d placed an order for some of the most appealing-sounding bread, ordered a black coffee, and sat down in a corner booth with a good window view. However, when his name had been called and he got up to grab his drink, he’d accidentally brushed hands with a woman reaching for her own drink. She’d apparently thought that was the beginning of some fairy-tale romance, because she started smiling and talking at him, because she apparently couldn’t see the wired earphones that led from his phone to both of his ears. He stared at her blankly, turning to go back to the table he’d chosen. The woman froze stupidly, not processing this rejection.

Simon honestly couldn’t have cared less. He didn’t care for meet-cutes, or whatever they were called. Brushing hands with a stranger wouldn’t be the beginning of any romance of his. The only person he’d even consider sharing his time with was someone who no longer had any interest in him, someone who never had romantic interest in him. This woman wasn’t Johnny. Not even close. And it disgusted him, that someone so obviously wrong would even begin to think she could get close to him.

It wasn’t her fault, of course. She didn’t know that Soap was the only one who could accept him, the only one who could get close to him- not like Price or Gaz, Ghost would consider them friends. But Soap… Soap was a part of him. Even if they never talked for the rest of their lives, Soap was the only one. Ghost sneered into his coffee. Thinking this way about a colleague- an ex-colleague- was disgusting. 5 years, and he still thought about Soap in ways he could never speak. Old habits died hard, he supposed.

Chapter Text

The bed was significantly less comfortable when John woke up 4 hours later. He pushed himself up, grimacing at the ache in his neck as he stood up, a groan escaping his lips as he stretched. A cursory look around the room did not give any indication to the current time, and he didn’t need to look at his phone to know it was dead, so he begrudgingly pulled his backpack towards him to search for the phone charger he’d stuffed one of its pockets.
An obscene amount of pockets searched and a bit of waiting later, and John’s phone finally lit up. There were a few texts from his parents asking if he’d gotten home safe, but nothing groundbreaking. As he opened his messages to reassure his family, his finger hovered over Simon’s contact for more than a few seconds. Even though they never talked enough to warrant a pinned conversation, John found some type of… fulfillment of pretending they did. So Simon's contact photo always hovered at the very top of John's messages. If he didn’t think too hard, then Simon was responding to the message he’d sent after he’d landed, the one where John asked for the address and if he should get a new toothbrush or if his old one was still there.

Unfortunately, having to confirm a lie about being safely situated at the house he didn’t really have made a worm of guilt writhe in his stomach. He truly had no clue what he was doing here, or why. Pretending even for a second that Simon wanted anything to do with him was probably the most childish thing he’d done in the last 20 years, at least. He dismissed his thoughts with a wave of his hand. He’d actually have to find a place to live now, and a job. He’d probably have to get a new I.D, probably get a car or a bus ticket. Right now, though, he just wanted food. He hadn’t eaten since some tiny bag of chips he’d grabbed as he left the airport, and it had been at least 8 hours since then. He had no strong desire to wander around an unfamiliar town, so he turned once again to his GPS, hoping that there were some-fast food places or maybe a cafe nearby.

As luck would have it, there was a bakery a block or two away from his hotel, and the reviews were overwhelmingly positive. It was good enough for John, and after making sure he had everything he needed, he set off.

The weather was quite pleasant, a picturesque example of fall- brown, red, orange, and yellow leaves were scattered on the ground or falling from the still-full trees. The wind was gentle, not the harsh, biting wind that Soap guessed was common in the winter. Regardless, the chime of the bell as he opened the door to the bakery coupled with the warm smell of fresh baked goods was welcome and comforting. John stepped away from the entrance so he could look around without being an obstacle.

The place was nice, if not stereotypical. A large chalkboard menu hung behind the counter, showcasing their drinks, pastries, breads, and desserts. Large windows offered a nice view of the street outside, and the booths beside them looked fairly comfortable. Once John had found some appetizing-sounding items, he got into the short line. He let his gaze wander over to a particularly grumpy-looking woman whose lipstick seemed a bit harsh for the natural makeup she wore. And this was apparent to a man who was not only gay, but was in the military for a good portion of his life- to put it simply, he knew jackshit about makeup. Hey, maybe that’s the reason she looks so pissed off- she knows her makeup is horrible!

The man in front of him walked towards an empty table, and John stepped up to the counter, ordering some special fall drink and a breakfast sandwich, as well as an apple cider donut for good measure. Once he had his food, he decided to sit in the corner booth, far from the door and with a good view of the shop. The sandwich itself was as good as the reviews had said, and the drink was reminiscent of the pumpkin pie his mother used to make. He decided he’d save the donut, so he’d have a nice snack or later in the day.

The only problem now was figuring out a job, and more permanent housing. Back when Simon moved here, John remembered he’d mentioned working for a security company- a fitting job for a man like Simon. He was big, after all. Both with his height and the fact he had a body that would make more than a few men jealous- prominent muscles, but not the ones like bodybuilders did. Ghost had practical muscle, from years of rigorous training and discipline. Soap doubted he’d deviated much from his gym routine- Ghost has enjoyed working out, not just doing it for the job. And Christ, Soap enjoyed what he did too. He’d find himself in the gym with Ghost more often than not- under the guise of doing his own workouts.

But sometimes he’d just stare. Taking a break, he’d say. Truth was, he loved watching Ghost move. To see him lift almost comedic weights, to watch the way the muscles in his back shifted as he pulled and pushed.

The man was hot. Even when he was completely covered, Soap could still only think of the muscle in his legs- Ghost could run for miles and his calves were evidence of it. His thighs were huge, and dammit if Soap didn’t want his head between em. His biceps were impressive even when relaxed, his forearms felt like rock. Even his damn hands- rough, veiny, evidently capable of hard work. Soap often found himself with an uncomfortable ache between his legs when Ghost would let a hand linger too long on his back, or when he’d wake up pressed against the man’s side. A firm side, may he add. Soap’s lieutenant was a big, strong man, and Soap would love to be under, on top-

John needed to get a job. And considering his past profession, security might be a good option. He didn’t remember the exact company Simon had mentioned, or if he’d mentioned it at all, but perhaps that was for the best. Again, if Simon even still lived in Manchester then it might not be a far fetch to say he had the same job. And if he did, how would he react to Johnny suddenly showing up? Would he be happy that he was here, or would he pretend they had no connection? Would Simon even recognize him? John didn’t look that different, but you never know.

All this thinking had John stressed out, and the caffeine hadn’t helped. If he was back home- his real home, in Scotland- he would’ve gone for a run. But now he was in a strange city, he had no idea what the future held, or what the actual fuck he was even doing here.
He’d left his entire life behind for a man he wasn’t sure if he knew anymore.

//////

Soap didn’t really remember the walk back to his hotel- he was too busy wondering why he was actually here. What if it went wrong, and Simon didn’t…
What did he want Simon to do? All Soap had been thinking about when he bought the plane ticket was how he was a civilian now, and how civilians had boyfriends and girlfriends and houses and lives and wives and husbands but all he wanted was Simon. Two years of radio silence was not something John wanted, per se. But he found himself forgetting that Simon was his lieutenant, his coworker, and not just a crush that he could flirt with. His mouth would say things his brain didn’t consent to, and each time he said something too seriously he felt Simon pull away, close off. John tried to stop- he didn’t want to cross a line and ruin what they had- but he realized he didn’t know what else to do, or say, and eventually everything just stopped.

He had been staring at Simon’s contact for at least 5 minutes, debating if he should get it over with- call him, try to do something, anything. He was just scared of the things that could go wrong. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would do if Simon had changed his number, or blocked him, or just… didn’t pick up. If Simon answered, then there were infinite possibilities of what could happen next. Most of the ones John could think of scared him more than he cared to admit.

But he wasn’t some lovesick teenager anymore. He was a man, a man who’d served in the SAS, a man who survived everything he had. He couldn’t be scared of calling an old friend- no matter how far from friendly his feelings toward them were. Besides, it was the practical thing to do. John needed to know if he would have to go house hunting, and if he would be on his own to find employment. This is just what he had to do.
He pressed call.

Chapter Text

Simon’s phone was ringing.
It was an unknown number, but considering Simon had never added his contacts onto the new phone he’d gotten last month, it could’ve been Price, a distant relative, or his boss- and he would be none the wiser.
“Hello?”
“Simon?”
“Speaking.”
“Yeah, this is Tom, We were wondering if you’d be able to act as a detail for an event tomorrow? Archer was one of the guys who was scheduled but he had something come up.”
“...yeah, no problem. Send me the details.”
Stupid Simon, thinking it could’ve been Johnny. He’d considered adding Soap's number to his new phone, but he couldn’t bear to even look at the contact. All he felt was guilt- for not trying harder, for giving up, for letting Johnny go. The fact he doubted the man would ever contact him only added to his disinterest of adding his number into this new phone.

But Tom had said something about a job tomorrow. Simon worked contractually, usually receiving assignments through his email, unless on short notice like this one. Luckily, he didn’t have anything planned for tomorrow, and the distraction that work provided him was almost always welcome. He was too focused on scanning crowds and making escape plans to think about how he wished he’d go home to a non-empty house and fall asleep next to a warm body.

Sure, he could find some girl at a bar for a quick fuck. Even as scary as he was, he never found himself short of willing partners- sometimes he wondered if the way he looked actually helped. More than once there had been guys who’d hit on him, but it had only made him want to curl into a ball and disappear. It never felt right. He wasn’t sure if that was because of the idea that homosexuality was wrong- a lesson he’d had firmly beaten into him as a child- or because they weren’t Johnny. The girls were truly nothing to him- they were pretty, sure, but that’s about where the appeal ended. The things he’d guiltily wake up from were never about any of them- always those blue eyes, that astonishingly cheerful smile- that absurd mohawk.

It had been too long since Simon had shared his bed with someone else. Maybe he’d get lucky and find a pretty girl to spend the night. But then again, he had no clue what the job was. It was entirely possible he’d just be escorting some shitty politician somewhere- most of Simon’s jobs were something along that line. Whatever. He’d find out tomorrow, and it didn’t really matter to him anyway.

Simon shut his phone off and shoved it in his pocket. After leaving the cafe earlier, he’d wandered for a bit before heading to work- some celebrity had been in town for a meet-and-greet and Simon had been selected mainly because he looked intimidating, his actual skills only being a plus. It was late when he got back, the sun just beginning to set. And now Simon was bored. Trying to find some shitty TV show or lounging around his apartment was extremely unappealing, but he truly had nothing else to do.

Confident that some ibuprofen would remedy a hangover, Simon decided to go to the same bar he always did when he got too bored or too depressed and needed to feel something. He was somewhat familiar with the regular workers, and he suspected some of them recognized him, too. He tossed his work clothes in the washer, changing into his regular outfit of jeans and a gray shirt, with his favorite Carhartt jacket on top for good measure.

The walk from his apartment to the bar was a short one, but Simon still praised himself for the choice to bring a jacket- apparently the temperature had dropped several degrees since he’d gotten home from work. The inside of the bar was warm, and Simon made his way to his usual stool, flagging the bartender down for a beer as he sat.

Upon it’s arrival, he downed a good half of the drink, much thirstier than he’d thought he was. It wasn’t long before the first beer was gone, and then the second.

Simon was on his fifth drink when he made eye contact with the boy across the room. He thought of him as a boy, because while he was evidently over 21 with the remains of more than a few alcoholic beverages that sat before him, his face was softer, his expression not sharpened by the years. The boy had been staring at him for a while, Simon could feel his eyes burning into the side of his face. When he’d finally looked up, the boy hadn’t looked away- if anything, he seemed to stare harder.

Simon wanted nothing to do with the boy and truly had no clue when he noticed the figure had slid onto the stool next to him. Nursing a sixth beer, he pretended not to notice him. It wasn’t hard. The alcohol had gotten to his brain, and he felt slightly like his body was lagging behind his brain. There were no more pesky depressing thoughts though, he was sure of that. He also noticed his senses were dulled, the split skin of his knuckles no longer burning when he made a fist.

The boy was in his face now- or was he in the boy’s? Either way, they were close. His eyes were grey, his light brown hair falling into them despite the amount of times he brushed it away. Simon stared at his lips- trying to decipher exactly what he was saying.
“-d if you weren’t busy I was thinking maybe we could get out of here, but only if you weren’t like doing something or if you didn’t want to o-”
Simon frowned. The boy’s voice was soft and sweet, not loud and confident like Simon liked. His eyes looked dull and lifeless, Simon would’ve preferred blue. That hair was too long, it certainly wouldn’t pass in the military. Not like he was sure how Soap’s did.
Oh, that’s what was wrong.
This wasn’t Soap.
Stupid.

“Why are you talking to me again exactly?”
Simon vaguely registered that he was slurring his words. The boy wilted at the realization he’d basically been talking to a brick wall, and opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted.

“...Simon?”
Simon jerked towards the voice, instantly regretting it when his head began to swim. The man in front of him was blurry and indistinguishable, but the voice had been a constant in years of wet dreams and Simon would’ve recognized it even if he’d forgotten everything else.

His vision cleared, and standing in front of him, backlit like some fucking angel, was his Johnny. He stared. Was this some drunk hallucination or had the man he’d been pining after for over a decade suddenly appeared in his presence? He reached out a shaky hand, poking this supposed-Soap in the chest.
Yeah, that felt real.

The boy still seated beside Simon looked between them awkwardly before slipping away to go find another inappropriately older man to flirt with. Simon didn’t even notice his absence, already forgetting the boy had ever been there.
Johnny, being much more sober and capable of thought, watched as the boy walked away, before looking back to Simon.
“Ah’m sorry, was ‘e… did ah interrupt?”
Simon said nothing, his drunk brain struggling to comprehend this reality. Soap was different. Older, obviously. His eyes were just a bit more solemn, his face a tad more serious. Nevertheless, it was still Soap. His Soap, his Johnny. But.. why was his Johnny here?

“Johnny?”
Soap nodded slowly.
“Aye, Tha’s me.”
“Why are you here? You don’t live in England.”
“Ah, about that.”

Chapter Text

When Simon hadn’t answered, John had thought it was some form of rejection from the man. While he would never admit it, a part of him really believed Simon would pick up the phone and tell him to come stay with him. Or even just say he didn’t hate him. So when the voice told him to leave a message John had to resist the urge to throw his phone across the room.

The next few hours John spent spiraling, his mind switching from beating himself up over letting his and Simon’s relationship apart to desperately searching for some not outrageously expensive apartment. Hours of this had burnt him out, and John was exhausted and just wanted a drink, a break for his brain. Tomorrow he’d start actually working out a plan. Tonight he’d sulk.

He’d asked the hotel clerk for a recommendation of bars, and she’d told him that there was a bus stop down the road, which ran to a pub not 20 minutes away. Convenience was a priority as John had all intents of getting hammered, so walking and driving were not an option- not like he had a car anyways. He’d left the hotel without a second thought, staring across the road as he waited for the bus. It didn’t take long, and soon John was letting himself be taken to some bar he didn’t even know the name of.

The place seemed nice enough on the outside, about as typical you could get for a bar in the outskirts of Manchester. It was on the end of a road, a small parking lot in the back. Warm lights shone through the windows, and upon opening the door John was met with loud chatter and conversation all around the room. There were tables scattered around, a pool table that was currently occupied, and some stools at the counter. Only there to get drunk and then leave, John settled on a seat not too close to the two other men currently at the bar. As he got closer, though, he saw a face that made his thoughts just stop.

What the fuck? How did John get so unlucky that a random bar he didn’t choose just so happened to be the one that Simon was at? Simon himself was clearly out of it, swaying almost imperceptibly as he squinted at the man next to him, obviously not engaged in whatever he was saying from the way his eyes began to wander around the room. Against his better judgement, John spoke.
“...Simon?”
Simon’s head whipped towards John, who grimaced as he was met with a glare that turned into a squint. John didn’t move, unsure of what to do as Simon reached out and poked him in the chest. John’s eyes furrowed, movement to Simon’s right catching his eye- the man sitting next to him was sliding off his stool. Simon didn’t seem to notice, but John felt guilty.

“Ah’m sorry, was ‘e… did ah interrupt?”
Simon said nothing, and John was preparing himself to turn around and leave, but the look on Simon’s face wasn’t one of anger, or disgust, or any other emotion that would’ve sent John spiraling further. It was a look of disbelief, with perhaps a bit of… hope? John was confused. If Simon had ignored John’s call, wouldn’t he be at least somewhat upset with his presence? When Simon finally spoke, it wasn’t what John expected to hear.

“Johnny?”

And John knew he was fucked. Even after all these years, he still felt himself melt when his lieutenant said his name. In fact, it made a part of him ache, because Simon was the only one who said his name like that, and John hadn’t heard it in so long that it only made him love it more, not realizing how much he’d missed hearing it.

John nodded in response to Simon’s questioning address.
“Aye, Tha’s me.”
“Why are you here? You don’t live in England.”

John smiled awkwardly.
“Ah, about tha. Ah do, now. Ah retired ah week ago and ah… ah decided ta move here. Only heard good things about it from ye.”
Yeah, that was totally the reason. Thankfully(?)Simon was a bit too out of it to really question him. Truth be told, John wasn’t entirely sure how present Simon was in general.
“Who was tha guy wit ya?”
Simon’s brow furrowed.
“What guy?”
John smiled, a tad concerned.
“Tha one ye were jus talkin ta?”
Simon’s face showed no recognition of whatever the fuck John was talking about.
“Christ Ghostie, how many drinks ave ye had?”
John chuckled nervously.

“I need you to take me home.”
That was not at all what John thought Simon would say, and he would’ve taken it as a joke apart from the fact Simon looked and sounded completely serious. Unless John had really forgotten more than he’d thought, Simon wasn’t showing any of his tells that he was joking.

“Why’s that, L.T?”
“I’m drunk and cannot be left alone for my own safety.”

Considering the fact that Simon had apparently come here alone, John was skeptical of Simon’s claim, he took the bait.
“Alrighty, L.T. Lead the way.”
Simon slapped £25 on the counter, almost stumbling from his apparent reluctance to take his eyes off Johnny. Simon grabbed the other man’s sleeve and off they set, Simon looking back every few moments as if to make sure John was still behind him. Yeah, he was definitely capable of getting home on his own. Good thing, too, because it wasn’t like John knew the way to Simon’s apartment.

When they got to the front door of Simon’s abode, he pulled keys from his back pocket and attempted to insert them in the keyhole, but there was a slight tremor in his hand that made it painful just to watch. Eventually, John gently took them from his hand.

“Let me giv it ah try, aye?”

Simon simply stared at him as he opened the door, only entering the apartment after John waved him in, shutting the door behind him as he too entered. Simon didn’t move from his spot a few feet from the door, and when John raised an eyebrow, Simon did something Soap never expected. Simon wrapped his arms around him, and John froze for a moment before giving the man an awkward pat on the back.

That wasn’t because he didn’t want the affection, quite the opposite. But Ghost never hugged anyone. At least, not in a full-on bear hug like he was now- it was only ever shoulder hugs, or a touching of shoulders.

John tried not to be too obvious about his inhalation of Ghost’s smell. That was one thing that hadn’t changed- Simon still wore the same cologne Soap had gotten him as a joke one Christmas. It smelled like rain–petrichor–, because of some joke about how Ghost seemed like a wet cat- always vaguely irritated and perhaps a bit unsettled. Soap had never expected for his lieutenant to actually like the smell- and certainly never thought he’d still be wearing it decades later.

Ghost was still strong, too. John could feel the muscle in the arms wrapped around him, and secretly wished they were holding him tighter. He had forgotten how good it felt to be held. It made him feel somewhat ill, the little voice in his head reminding him that Simon was drunk out of his mind and probably wouldn’t be doing this if he was sober.

John probably could’ve stayed there trying to figure out whether he should feel bad or relish the contact for the rest of eternity had Simon not started pulling him down the hall- and fuck it, John let him. Turns out Simon had brought him to his bedroom, and immediately wasted no time in pulling off his shoes and jacket and attempting to steal John’s, who resisted at first but eventually gave into the drunk man’s persistence. Only when Simon started tugging at John’s shirt did he take the man’s hands off of him.

“Simon, what ah ye doin?”
The tone he used was similar one might use when speaking to a child- soft, and being careful not to irritate the most likely emotionally sensitive man.
Simon frowned, hands trying to reach John’s shirt.
“It’s time for bed. You don’t sleep with clothes on.”
“Why would what ah wear be important, Simon?
“Because you’re sleeping.”
“Am ah, now?”
Simon, giving up on taking of John’s clothes, began to pull off his own, almost falling when he got a foot tangled in his pants. John looked on in amusement. Ghost never got this drunk when the group of them had gone out to bars and pubs, and it was funny to think about.
“Johnnyy… please?”
The pout was as cute to John as it could be, coming from a fully-grown man who was over 6 feet tall and mostly muscle.
“Simon, ye don’t want me in ye bed, ah promise.”

“You always sleep in my bed.”

John was 100% sure that this was untrue, but Simon seemed like he believed it with every ounce of his being. Well, if this was the last chance he got to be with Simon, then he’d go with it. Something about having his cake and eating it too. He pulled off his pants, but kept his shirt for some semblance of decency. Simon stared at him as he undressed, apparently unashamed.

Simon moved to the other side of his bed, making space for Johnny, who tentatively got into the bed of a man who he’d been in love with since he was young enough that retirement was a thing he never thought he’d reach. Simon pulled him close, body heat warm against the cold air, despite being under a blanket. John found himself once again pressed face-first into Simon’s chest, and once again relished in the contact. If things had gone differently, maybe every night could’ve been like this- maybe it could’ve been better. Late nights talking in their shared apartment, leaning on each other as they watched shitty shows, contact beyond the platonic touch they used to exchange. But no matter how much John wished, that wasn’t reality. When Simon woke up, hungover and sick, he’d make John leave. They’d probably never talk again, not like that would be new. But any chance, any sliver of Soap held onto would be crushed, and John wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do then. He’d be left with the memory of drunken cuddles, forced to remember the night he’d gotten so close- just not close enough.

John would savor this while he had it.

Chapter Text

Simon hadn’t expected for Johnny to be there when he woke up. Sure, Drunk Simon thought the man was Johnny. But that wouldn’t have been the first time that the alcohol had turned tricks on his eyes that resulted in Simon waking up to a strange man beside him- almost Johnny, but most definitely not. So Simon hadn’t hesitated to get out of bed the next morning in search of ibuprofen, which he found in the mirror cabinet. Again, the splotch of blood on the bathroom sink drew his attention, dark reddish brown against the white counter. Simon stared at it, the bottle of medication making a rattling sound as he unscrewed the bottle and shook two pills into his hand, swallowing them dry as he put the bottle back and shut the mirror.

He really didn’t care. He splashed some cold water on his face, as much to wipe away the grime from yesterday as to wake him up. He’d slept through the night, probably because of the sheer volume of alcohol in his blood. It was still early, though- maybe 5 or 6. He reckoned he’d have 10 or so hours at least until he needed to be at work. Not exactly ecstatic at being awake, he left the bathroom to go find clothes to wear- quietly surprised at the fact he’d apparently put his boxers back on sometime before he’d fallen asleep. Now that he thought of it, hadn’t the man still had a shirt on? That was a bit strange as well.

He didn’t look in the direction of his bed, wanting to pretend for a bit longer it was truly Johnny he’d woken up next to. He settled on just some gray patterned pajama pants, planning on taking a shower after the man left. Speaking of…
Simon turned to him, already grimacing as he looked at… what looked exactly like Johnny? Same hair, same cut eyebrow… same blue eyes. Simon furrowed his brow. He’d really outdone himself. Unless he’d dreamt it up, hadn’t the man’s name been Johnny as well?
This Johnny sat up somewhat guiltily, running his hand through his hair as he looked at Simon.
“Ah promise ah only stayed cuz ye asked, Si.”
Oh.
Simon’s eyebrows raised in disbelief, which Johnny apparently took as a bad sign because he began hurriedly explaining.
“Ah was at the pub an ye were there and ye told me ah had te take ye home and ye kinde dragged me an when we got back ye told me ah had te… te-”
Simon didn’t remember getting this close to Johnny, and he really didn’t remember what drove him to his knees, only that he was kneeling in front of what actually was his Johnny, not some stranger. His hands reached for Johnny’s face, holding it and feeling the warmth of a real person. He felt John lean into his touch, and he felt like he could cry.
“I didn’t think you would be here.”
Simon whispered, still reveling in the idea that Johnny was really, truly, honest-to-god Johnny, sitting on Simon’s bed in nothing but a shirt and boxers. He didn’t know what to say, but at the concern on Johnny’s face he added,
“I thought I was drunk and dreamt it up.”
Apparently that did not do much to soothe Johnny, the look on his face now indiscernible.
“Ye dream of me of’en, Si?”

Oh Johnny, if only you knew. Simon didn’t speak, choosing to move his arms to Johnny’s waist and hugging him- he didn’t know why this was happening, but suddenly he was grateful he’d been so bored he went to get hammered. He was so damn thankful he’d had nothing better to do. Simon was a strong man- physically and emotionally. So when he felt his eyes start to burn and a lump beginning to form in his throat, he tried to stop it- he had no clue what was happening, or why. But his efforts were in vain, and he could feel Johnny tense when Simon felt his own body shudder with sobs he tried to choke down. His inability to control himself only made him feel worse, his mind consumed by self-loathing. How pathetic was he, crying in the arms of another man? The voices in his head hissed about how he was weak, girly, shameful. But how could any of that be true when Johnny was telling him it was alright? How could it be a bad thing when his cheek was met not with a slap, but a soft touch, and hand guiding his chip up? How could it be bad when there was an angel looking down at him, not with disgust but with compassion?

He would’ve tried to stop his tears, but the angel who held him told him to let it out, and what was Simon if not loyal, if not obedient. He cried for what felt like hours, but was probably more like half of one. Even then, he was only met with gentleness, with love, and it only confirmed to Simon that Johnny must truly be the only holy thing on earth. Be damned what anyone else said, he would cast their condemnations to the wind without so much as a second thought if Johnny told him to. He decided then and there, eyes wet and red-rimmed from crying and knees aching from kneeling for too long, that he was Johnny’s, heart, body and soul.

He’d recovered from his tears soon after making his resolution, quickly disappearing to the bathroom to once again wash away the evidence of his weakness. Upon returning several minutes later, he only quietly invited Johnny to the kitchen, where he set about making tea for himself and coffee for Soap, who was sitting at the counter as Simon shuffled about. There was a silent agreement between them that they would not speak of what just happened.

They had been sitting in silence for several moments before Simon had finally spoken.
“I’m sorry.”
John only waved him off.
“Nothin to be sorry for, Si.”
A few more moments passed quietly.
“If I’m remembering right, you said something about living in Manchester now?”
Simon set a mug of coffee down in front of Johnny, choosing to lean back on the counter as he drank his tea.
“Aye. Ah retired not last week, decided ah needed ah fresh start. So here ah ahm.”
“You retired? Why?”
Simon was surprised, the idea of Soap retiring never really a plausible idea in his mind.
“Ah’m too old, Simon.” John chuckled. “Knew it when ah woke up sore from sleepin’ wrong. Plus, ah want te be able to relax. Ah’d like to eat food ah know’s food. Ah’d like to go te ah movie thea’re, do normal things. Ye know?”
Simon merely nodded.
“Where are ya livin, then? Got a flat or summat?”
John stared into his coffee.
“Tha’s what ah called ye ‘bout yes’erday, actually. Ah haven’ found ah place, or ah job for that matter, yet. Ah was wonderin’, if et wasn’ a burden, if ah could stay wit ye for a bit? Until ah’ve got me own place.”
Simon’s day was just getting better and better.
“Of course ya can. What kind of lieutenant would I be otherwise?” besides, if Johnny was staying with him, then he’d get to be with him far more often. He’d be able to pretend they were lovers- he could make Johnny breakfast, see him when he woke up. Everything about this arrangement sounded amazing.
“One thing.”
“Ya?”
“I’ve only got one bed.”

The two spent a few minutes arguing over how neither could sleep on the couch- it was Simon’s house and Johnny wouldn’t kick him out of his own bed, and Simon maintained that he would feel too guilty if he made his guest sleep on a couch. Simon of course didn’t mention the air mattress in his closet, and neither of them brought up how they’d rather sleep with the other. The discussion ended with a mutual agreement to just stick to one side of the bed- pillow walls were out of the question simply because Simon had a total of two pillows to his name, three if you counted the one on his couch.

With both men secretly excited about sleeping next to each other for the foreseeable future, the silence was pleasant, the good mood shared by both as they talked about how their lives had been after Simon had retired. Neither let anything slip about the secret feelings they harbored, not wanting to fuck things up when they’d gotten so far. Simon mentioned putting in a good word for John at his job, and remembered that he did, in fact, have to work today. Retrieving his phone from the bedroom to check the location was met with a frown from John.
“Ye got ah new phone?”
“Yeah, about a week ago. Why?”
Suddenly a few things seemed to click in John’s brain, and he let out a sigh.
“Ah called ye yesterday. Ye never picked up, and ah thought ye were ignorin’ me.” He chuckled, leaving out the fact that the idea of Simon ignoring him had been why he had gone to the bar in the first place.
“Jesus no, Johnny. I got a new number. Wasn’t ignoring you.”

Chapter Text

The two of them had talked for hours, until inevitably Simon had to leave for work. He excused himself to shower, and Johnny’s gaze wandered around what was apparently his new (no matter how temporary) home. It was small, but that was typical of a single man who’d been living in military accommodations for half his life. There was a small kitchen, complete with a stove and oven, a sink, and a fridge. It was U-shaped, and one side of the kitchen was an open island counter, the stools for sitting at it still on the linoleum but more part of the living room. The living room itself had a fairly large TV, and a gray couch opposite it. The coffee table between them was clean, holding only what John presumed to be the remote for the TV.  There was a hallway that separated the kitchen and living room on the left when you entered the apartment, short and containing only two doors; one for the bathroom and one for Simon’s–and now Johnny’s– bedroom. The bathroom door was currently shut, as Simon was showering. The bedroom door, however, was open- spotting his own pants on the floor, John realized he had been sitting in a shirt and boxers for the majority of the day- he hadn’t noticed and apparently neither had Simon.

It was then John realized he had none of his belongings, all of the things he’d brought with him to Manchester were still in his hotel room. He would have to go back and check out of the room and get all his possessions to Simon’s home, without a car or any concrete idea of how to get there and back. Regardless, he should probably do that soon, and Simon leaving for work created the perfect opportunity. John sighed as he realized he’d have to basically take over part of Simon’s house- their clothes would be hung together, their shoes would sit side-by-side near the door, John’s bodywash and conditioner and shampoo would have to find a place next to Simon’s. Actually, that didn’t sound so bad to him. He wasn’t sure what Simon thought, though, and he felt guilty at the thought that maybe Simon didn’t think of that, and upon discovering John’s life bleeding into his, Simon would make him leave. No, he’d had to share much more cramped quarters before, during stakeouts or waiting for evacs. In the end, to ease his own anxiety, he’d just wait until Simon got back from work to unpack anything. 

The bathroom door opened, and Simon walked out and into the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, shutting the door as he entered. John stared at the now-closed door, his dick twitching in his pants despite how hard John willed himself to calm down. He had been right- despite the fact Simon had left the military and therefore no longer was subject to the rigorous training that all soldiers were required to do, the man was still ridiculously muscular, and despite only catching a glimpse of Simon’s body, John could still picture the obviously well-trained abs of Simon’s stomach,  the gentle pudge that covered them, and the framework of muscle that was his back- John tried desperately to think of anything else. Yeah, he’d have to find his own Gym. and to get to his hotel… would he take a bus or a taxi? Could he walk? He didn’t have that much stuff.

Simon was worse in his work uniform, which was stupid considering it was just a black polo shirt that said security and some black trousers. Simon also had a black medical mask in his hand, and a black backpack in his left. John averted his eyes, choosing to stare at the floor instead. 

“Alright. I think I’ll be back around 11, there’s a spare key in the drawer next to the fridge, and you can eat anything in the fridge. Christ, I feel like a dad leaving his kid at home alone for the first time.”

Simon grimaced, the thought quite unappealing. John just nodded at the new information.

“Aye, ah was thinkin’ ah’d get me belongin’s from the hotel after ye left. Hav fun, ah guess?”

John offered a half-smile, neither of the men entirely sure what to say.

“Sure. Just shove the clothes in my closet to the side and you can have any hangers that aren’t being used. There should be some more in a box on the floor if you need more.”

Simon paused, eyes wandering as he tried to remember if there was anything else to say.

“I think that’s it. Oh, let me give you my new number in case you need it.”

He grabbed a sticky note and a pen from the junk drawer after dropping his bag and shoving the mask in his pocket. He wrote the number down, handing it to Johnny. 

“Alright. See you later, I guess.”

“Aye, goodbye.”

Simon nodded slowly, grabbing his bag before leaving the apartment. And just like that, John was alone. He sat at the counter for a few awkward moments, before venturing into the bedroom. He half-heartedly picked up his trousers, not entirely eager to find his way back to the hotel quite yet. He supposed he was afraid he’d break some sort of spell, that he’d wake up, alone, on the cheap mattress of his rented room. He pulled the trousers on, struggling for a moment as he tried to get his foot into the twisted leg. Once he’d gotten them fully on, he felt almost uncomfortable, wishing he could go back to laying in bed with Simon in the wee hours of the morning. 

The bathroom was his next stop, and as he bent to bring the warm water flowing from the tap to his face, his eyes fell on a strange red-brown splotch on the sink. Blood? John’s brown furrowed. Why was there blood in Simon’s bathroom? He stored the question away to ask Simon later as he rose, grabbing a hand towel to wipe his face with from the hook next to the sink. When he was sufficiently dry, the towel was tossed into the hamper, and John tried to make his hair as neat as he could with water and his fingers. Before he turned off the lights, he studied the rest of the room. 

The room itself had pale green wallpaper and tiling, the pedestal sink a plain white and holding a single toothbrush and a tube of mint toothpaste. There was a hamper behind the door, and a few towel hooks above that. The toilet was a toilet, not much to say about that. The shower was on the larger side, and a shelf along the back wall held the same brand of body wash Simon had used in the military. There was also a matching set of shampoo and conditioner, and a bar of soap. The regular things. John shut the door as he left, grabbing his phone from the counter and rummaging through the junk drawer for the spare key Simon had mentioned- he found it with relative ease, and stuck it in his pocket.

The walk back to his hotel was shorter than expected, and it was mainly that factor that helped him decide he’d just walk back with his luggage. He wasn’t too worried about the carrying of the luggage itself, more concerned with not getting lost on the maze-like streets he was currently navigating. Eventually he found himself back at the hotel, but from the opposite direction he’d first come. He nodded to the doorman as he entered, told the clerk he was checking out, and took the elevator back up to his room. He hadn’t taken much out of his suitcase or backpack, and after stuffing his charger and the complimentary (at least, John assumed they were) hotel soaps and washes into his bag, he left, making sure to give his keycard back to the nice lady at the desk. 

John took his time walking back, hoping to find some shop or store he could eventually go back to in order to find some type of gift for Simon, as thanks for letting John stay with him. The area was pretty, if not a tad bit cramped. This was where he lived now- a strange thought for the man so used to vast expanses of open land, where neighbors were a kilometer or two apart instead of sharing walls. 

Eventually John was shouldering the apartment door open, dumping his backpack on the counter and making sure he’d shut the door before rolling his suitcase into the bedroom, opening it on the floor and trying to figure out where to start. He turned first to the closet, sliding the door as far as it could go to see what he was working with. John took every hanger that wasn’t used and tossed it onto the bed, and then slid all of Simon’s clothes to the right-hand side of the rack. This allowed for a good half of the closet for John to use as he pleased. Acknowledging he would need more hangers, he crouched down to reach the box shoved in the corner of the closet. Sure enough, inside were 2 unopened packages of hangers. John took one out, not needing more than the 10 it contained. But before he shut the lid, he spotted something else, underneath the other package. He lifted it out, turning it over to the picture on the box.

A queen-sized air mattress, boasting its built-in pump, smiled up at him. John wasn’t sure if Simon just hadn’t realized he had this, as judging from its unopened box he hadn’t yet used it, or if he had purposely not told John. considering the box had been under the hangers, it seemed likely Simon had just forgotten. John wanted to pretend Simon had intentionally not brought it up as an option. He put the mattress back in the bigger box, put the package of hangers he wasn’t going to use on top, and shut the lid before shoving it back into the closet.

When John was done unpacking, any stranger who came in could believe that the two men had been living together for a much longer amount of time. John’s clothes were lined up next to Simon’s, his jacket hung from the hook near the front door. John’s toothbrush sat next to Simon’s, his hair gel was placed in the cabinet. He also had put some of his photos up on the nightstand, but most of his non-essential items remained in his luggage until he could ask Simon where they should go.

It was only around 9 PM when John finished, and at a loss for anything else to do, he laid on the bed, his heart speeding up at the thought that it was where Simon slept, and that he would now be sleeping in it- next to Simon. John rolled onto his side, pulling the pillow beside him into his arms, inhaling the smell of Simon. He was beyond happy, and tired. He’d been so stressed yesterday, and before that, when he’d had to find a plane and a hotel and plan everything else. Last night had been a fever dream, and he still couldn’t believe that he was now LIVING with Simon, sharing a bed and a closet and a bathroom and basically everything else. He was as giddy as a schoolgirl, smiling into a pillow that wasn’t his. 

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, just that it was far past 11 when he awoke to the sounds of the bed creaking and the feeling of the mattress beside him dipping with the weight of another man.

Chapter Text

Simon had been partially correct in his guess that the job he was working would be a typical one. Some important politician was having a press conference, and due to his controversial, and frankly (in Simon’s opinion) disgusting takes. Upon seeing the large man that was Ghost, the politician had said something quite rude about not having to deal with women saying no to Simon. Being the professional he was, Simon didn’t let the distaste show on his face, and kept his mouth shut in case something equally rude slipped out.

The conference itself was bland, and Simon was almost disappointed no one had tried to harm the asshole he was in charge of protecting. Either way, when the event was over and Simon was dismissed, he found himself actually looking forward to going back to his apartment, something he hadn’t felt in a while. Usually all that awaited him was cold, silent darkness, and it made him feel miserable. But now that Johnny was there? Simon couldn’t get back soon enough.

Simon honestly didn’t care whether John was awake or asleep- if he was awake, then he’d have someone to talk to and fill the silence with. If he was asleep on the couch Simon knew he’d carry the man into the bedroom if not just to hold him in his arms. No matter what Johnny was doing or where he was doing it, the idea of not returning to an empty home void of life was enough for him.

When he finally got to his apartment door, he paused for a moment. What if Johnny decided to stay another night at the hotel? No, surely he would’ve told Simon. He double checked his messages just to make sure John hadn’t done exactly that, and found himself relieved when there were no new notifications. Just to be cautious, Simon found himself trying to be quiet as he entered his flat, cringing at the squeaking hinges he’d never actually noticed before. He carefully shut the door behind him, far more alert to noise than he usually was.

The lights were still on, but Johnny was nowhere to be found. It also didn’t really look like Johnny had unpacked, the apartment seeming more or less the same as when Simon had left. Considering Soap’s bountiful collections of things varying from photographs to bits of seaglass and colorful rocks, this struck Simon as strange- he’d assumed that he’d arrive back to an explosion of Johnny all over his apartment, and he was a tad disappointed that he hadn’t.

Simon sat his backpack on the counter- taking the few things inside back out and finding their places was a task for tomorrow Simon, not just-got-home-at-midnight Simon. Peeking into the hallway, he saw that the bathroom door was shut, and the space beneath the door was void of light- the bedroom door, however, was cracked open and he could see the bedside lamp was on. There was no movement that he could see, and it sounded as quiet as ever, so he carefully walked to the door and pushed it open only enough to see his Johnny passed out on the bed, Simon’s pillow in his embrace.

If Simon was not the man that he was, he would’ve been blushing furiously. Instead, he let himself stare for a few more moments before turning to the bathroom, flicking the light on as he entered. He stared in the mirror absentmindedly as he brushed his teeth, then tossing his worn clothes into the hamper before once again trying to quietly entering his bedroom, thankful for the carpet muffling his steps.

Last night he’d slept in his boxers, yes, but that was when he was drunk. Simon gave himself a pass, as he hadn’t been exactly capable of rational thought. But just being tired was not an excuse, and so he settled on an old T-shirt and shorts to sleep in. Johnny’s suitcase was in the middle of the room, and Simon stepped over it to turn the light off, trying to decide how to best get over Johnny and onto the side of the bed between the sleeping man and the wall. He decided on crawling over his legs, which sounded creepy as an idea but was still better than trying to step over Johnny’s torso.

Having successfully avoided waking the man and being extremely grateful he’d never gotten a box-spring mattress (the bedframe was creaky enough on its own), he sat on his side of the bed, facing Johnny. He was so handsome, and his unconsciousness meant Simon could admire him without any protest. This was also when he realized that the only other pillow he had that wasn’t being used by Johnny was the one sitting on the couch in the living room.
Damn.
He cursed himself, knowing damn well he wasn’t going to attempt to parkour over Johnny in order to get the pillow. He’d just have to deal with it. Unless…
He reached out towards the pillow, giving it a gentle tug. John’s grip was not as tight as it looked, and Simon successfully pulled the pillow from his grasp, setting it back in it’s original place. John shifted in his sleep, the loss of the pillow forcing him to readjust. Simon held his breath, waiting to see if he’d fucked up and woken his Johnny.

Several moments passed, and with no more movement from Johnny, Simon relaxed. He attempted to lay down quietly, Johnny’s body weighing down part of the queen-size mattress and drawing Simon’s body towards the other man’s. Simon could’ve moved back, so he wasn’t so close to Johnny that he could feel his warm breath on his face, but the feeling of Johnny’s body so close to his, so full and human, made him smile softly to himself. This is what he’d been missing.

Simon pulled the duvet up and over him and Johnny from where it was shoved down at the end of the bed, making a mental note to buy a bigger blanket. The duvet was full-size, large enough for Simon, but it barely covered both men even when they were as close as they were. Simon let himself take in the sleeping ex-soldier next to him for another moment.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

Chapter Text

John woke up to his own hot breath warming the air he was breathing in. instinctively, he pulled his face back, not entirely sure how the pillow he’d fallen asleep hugging had gone from being pressed against his chest to nearly suffocating him. Or when it had grown legs, actually. 

He cracked an eye open, immediately closing it when he realized with a crushing acceptance that his face had in fact been pressed right up in Simon’s chest, not a pillow, and the only thing between John’s mouth and Simon’s pectoral muscles was a flimsy gray shirt. Curse the things called clothing, the most annoying cockblock known to man. 

John snickered at his own jokes, going to rest his face back on the pillow before remembering he could not, in fact, do that. He pulled the blanket that had materialized with Simon farther up, hiding his chin from the cold air outside the blanket. He closed his eyes, tilting his head backwards so he wouldn’t fall asleep and get suffocated by Simon’s ample chest. Simon’s arm was slung over John’s shoulder, and that and the feeling of Simon’s thigh pressed to his own made the entire experience feel like they were a couple, and not just two friends reunited after half a decade. Johnny had only been awake for a minute or two, so his submission to sleep drew him back to unconsciousness shortly. 

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━💥

Simon, on the other hand, was wide awake. He’d woken a few minutes before Johnny, had pulled the man a tad bit closer without thinking. This had been successful for a few moments, but then Johnny had started to stir, and Simon pretended to be asleep so he’d have a plausible excuse if Johnny asked questions later. However, when Johnny pulled his face away from Simon and simply took a breath, Simon guiltily realized he hadn’t considered how hard it was to breath with your mouth and nose covered.

He felt the man shift next to him, and Simon desperately hoped that Johnny wasn’t going to pull away from Simon’s grasp and put an end to the cuddling sessionSimon was currently enjoying very much- and thankfully, Johnny didn’t, only letting out a barely-audible giggle and tilting his head back before covering more of his and Simon’s body with the duvet.

Simon didn’t dare open his eyes until he was sure that he wouldn’t see Soap’s blue eyes staring back at him. The clock on the nightstand behind Johnny informed Simon that it was only a few minutes past 8:30. Simon wasn’t sure how he felt about that- usually he would have been awake for at least a couple of hours before this time. Last night he’d blamed the fact he’d slept like a baby on the alcohol, but now he wasn’t sure if that had been the case. He was thankful he didn’t have to work today, avoiding the possibility of being late for work because he’d finally gotten rid of the insomnia that had plagued him for over a decade.

Today was Thursday, right? Simon usually went to the gym on Thursday, spending a good 2 or 3 hours burning off his frustrations and unpleasant feelings, his bandaged knuckles proof enough of that. But with John here, he was met with a dilemma- be away from his Johnny for any longer than he’d absolutely have to, or miss out on the chance to work out. He wasn’t sure if his gym allowed visito- what was he even thinking? If Johnny even thought about the gym, Simon knew he’d buy the man a membership to any gym he wished, and probably would get one for himself, not caring about his own comfort when the opportunity to spot his sergeant offered itself up. He’d bring up the idea later, and desperately hoped Johnny would like it.

Simon shifted, thinking he’d get up and make breakfast for the two of them. Usually he never cooked for himself, but he felt obliged to do it for John. However as he tried to move away from being pressed up against Johnny, he realized that the man’s arm was not just laying over Simon’s side, it was keeping them in the position they were in. Simon tried to gently lift John’s arm, but the strength of the freshly retired soldier was evident even when he wasn’t consciously making a choice, and Simon gave up, not wanting to wake his Johnny just to get up and fail at making food. 

Simon laid back down, forced to observe the room around him. He hadn’t changed much since he’d moved in, the walls the color of unused paper and just as empty. Simon didn’t have any decorations to hang, and it seemed like a waste of money to buy something he didn’t care about and couldn’t find a use for. The closet was–had been– an uncrowded greyscale of clothing. Johnny’s additions were a stark contrast- forest greens, navy blues, dark reds and other variations of color previously unseen in Simon’s bedroom. 

He wished for Johnny to wake up, because as much as he loved the feeling of his arm on Simon’s waist and the warmth between their bodies, he had to pee. 

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━💥

Johnny woke up to Simon shifting on the bed, and despite only being semi-conscious, moved away from Simon with a suddenness that was almost impressive. Simon stared at John, who stared right back.

“I thought you’d ne-”

“Ah swear ah didn’t m-”

They both shut their mouths, and Simon opened his mouth, thought for a moment, and shut it again.

“I’ve kinda gotta piss. Would ya mind…”

Simon motioned for John to move over, who basically scrambled to sit up. Simon got out of bed and walked out of the room without another word,  John mentally slapping himself. He’d never been a cuddler, so why did he have to wake up clinging to Simon like a fucking koala? Christ, Simon was probably weirded out and that’s why he’d left, not because he had to pee. Could John be any more embarrassing?

John got up, taking the opportunity to change his clothes while Simon was preoccupied in the bathroom. He chose a horrifyingly orange sweatshirt from the closet, the hideous color excused because of the fact it was by far the most comfortable hoodie John had ever owned. He swapped his day-old jeans for some casual shorts, a soothing grey compared to the fluorescent top. The clothes he’d been wearing were dumped into his suitcase to be washed later. 

In the bright light of the day, John felt awkward seeing his possessions in a room that didn’t belong to him. The photo he’d put on the nightstand–the one of the TF141– suddenly felt distasteful and out-of-place. He averted his gaze, unsure of whether he should wait in the bedroom for Simon to return or if he should find somewhere to sit in the kitchen or living room. Afraid of seeming like a lost puppy, John decided he’d find something to do in the other room.

The window in the living room had a beautiful view of the city, and John let himself stare down at the road several floors down. The street was fairly empty, most of the populous at work by now. He’d been zoning out for a moment when footsteps behind him brought him back to the present, and he turned to Simon, who was staring past John and out the window.

“Ah’m sorry aboot earlier. Ah dunnae usually dae tha’.”

“It’s fine, Johnny.”

Yeah, Simon was pissed.

“I wasn’t upset. But your death grip on me wasn’t escapable without waking you up, and i’d have felt bad if I had. I really just had to go to the bathroom. On my life.”

John flushed.

“Ye cuid ave woken meh up, Si.”

“Drop it, Johnny.”

“Aye, sir.”

Simon froze, and Johnny got redder. Soap still hadn’t dropped the reflexive response to orders, even Simon’s. Both men said nothing more for a moment, before Simon cleared his throat.

“I would’ve made breakfast, but..” 

Johnny felt guilt rise, afraid he’d fucked up another thing by being too clingy.

“I haven’t really cooked anything in awhile and I can’t imagine it would go that well. So, how do you feel about going out? There’s a pretty good Cafe I went to a few days ago.”

(and all I could think about was how you’d probably love it).