Drunk confession | soapghost
The pub door swung open, spilling out laughter and the smell of stale ale. Ghost followed right behind Soap, a hand on his shoulder, steering him out before the man could order another round.
âAlright, thatâs enough, Johnny.â
âAch, yer no fun, Lt,â Soap grinned, but his steps were uneven, voice heavy with warmth and whiskey. âSâa good night, innit? Should celebrate!â
âWe did,â Ghost muttered. âNow weâre going home before you faceplant on the pavement.â
The night air bit sharp. Soap shivered, shrugging deeper into his jacket. âYouâre a right killjoy, you know that?â
âPart of the job description.â
âBollocks.â Soap laughed, but it was weaker now. Quieter. He shoved his hands into his pockets, walking beside Ghost. Their boots echoed off the empty street. âYou ever get tired of beinâ the big scary lieutenant?â
Ghost side eyed him. âNo.â
âCourse not,â Soap huffed a laugh. âYou never get tired of anything. Donât even get tired of me, do ya?â
Ghost didnât answer. The silence between them hung heavy.
Soap stopped and stared at him, really stared, through the dim street lights and the haze of beer and half swallowed feelings.
âI like ye, yâknow,â he said suddenly.
Ghostâs head turned slightly. âYou like a lot of people, Johnny.â
Soap shook his head. âNot like this.â
Ghost froze. His throat went dry behind the mask. âYou donât know what youâre sayinâ.â
Soap stepped closer, voice dropping, almost desperate. âAye, I do. Been knowinâ it for a while now. You just pretend not to see it.â
âDonât âJohnnyâ me,â he snapped, words wobbling between anger and hurt. âI know what this is, Ghost. The way ye look at me. The way ye donât look at me, scared that I might notice. The way ye.. you protect me more than you should.â
Ghostâs jaw tightened. âYouâre drunk.â
Soap let out a shaky laugh that didnât sound like laughter at all. âAye, maybe. But drunk words are sober thoughts, eh?â
âNot always,â Ghost said quietly.
Soapâs hand slammed against the wall beside, not hard, but enough to make Ghost flinch inside. âThen tell me somethinâ. Am I not enough for you?â
âYouâreâŚâ Ghost swallowed hard. âYouâre more than enough.â
Soap took a step back, eyes bright in the glow of the streetlamp. âIs there someone else?â
âYou heard me,â Soap pressed. âYouâve got that look sometimes.. like thereâs someone waitinâ for ye. Someone you keep yourself for. Is there?â
Ghostâs throat worked around a lump that wouldnât go down. âNo.â
âThen why not me?â Soapâs voice cracked, and before Ghost could move, he grabbed the manâs wrist. âWhy not me, Simon?â
Ghost didnât pull away, didnât move at all. Just stood there, the warmth of Johnnyâs hand bleeding through his own.
âYou donât know what youâre asking for,â Ghost said, low, rough.
âI know exactly what Iâm askinâ for,â Soap shot back. âIâve known for months.â He stepped closer again, desperation bleeding through every syllable. âI know, you know it too.â
Ghost said nothing. His silence said everything.
Soapâs laugh came out broken. âBloody hell, why do you resist this so much?â
The words hung between them, too heavy to take back. Too late to take back.
âJohnnyâŚâ Ghostâs voice softened, almost a plea. âYouâre too good for this. For me.â
âThen let me decide that, aye?â Soap said, eyes glassy but fierce. âDonât make that choice for me.â
Ghostâs jaw clenched. âYouâre not thinkinâ straight.â
âMaybe not,â Soap admitted. âBut I mean every word.â
The silence stretched between them, Soap took a shaky breath, voice lowering. âIf you donât feel the same⌠just tell me. Donât keep stringinâ me along. Donât keep lettinâ me hope.â
Ghost finally met his eyes. The look there was enough to burn the night down.
âI do feel it,â Ghost said quietly. âThatâs the problem.â
Soapâs breath hitched. âThen what are we doinâ, Simon?â
Ghost looked away, his voice a whisper. âSurvivinâ. Thatâs all I know how to do.â
Soapâs hand fell from his wrist, empty now. He gave a small, humourless laugh. âGuess Iâll keep waitinâ, then. For you to learn somethinâ else.â
He turned to walk ahead, shoulders shaking slightly. Ghost followed a few paces behind, hands buried in his coat pockets, mask hiding everything but the regret in his eyes. And when Soap stumbled once on the curb, Ghost reached out, steadying him, then let go before either of them could make it mean something more.