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.
“Alright, that’s enough, Johnny.”
“Ach, yer no fun, Lt,” Soap grinned, but his steps were uneven, voice heavy with warmth and whiskey. “S’a good night, innit? Should celebrate!”
“We did,” Ghost muttered. “Now we’re going home before you faceplant on the pavement.”
The night air bit sharp. Soap shivered, shrugging deeper into his jacket. “You’re a right killjoy, you know that?”
“Part of the job description.”
“Bollocks.” 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. “You ever get tired of bein’ the big scary lieutenant?”
Ghost side eyed him. “No.”
“Course not,” Soap huffed a laugh. “You never get tired of anything. Don’t even get tired of me, do ya?”
Ghost didn’t 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.
“I like ye, y’know,” he said suddenly.
Ghost’s head turned slightly. “You like a lot of people, Johnny.”
Soap shook his head. “Not like this.”
Ghost froze. His throat went dry behind the mask. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’.”
Soap stepped closer, voice dropping, almost desperate. “Aye, I do. Been knowin’ it for a while now. You just pretend not to see it.”
“Don’t ‘Johnny’ me,” he snapped, words wobbling between anger and hurt. “I know what this is, Ghost. The way ye look at me. The way ye don’t look at me, scared that I might notice. The way ye.. you protect me more than you should.”
Ghost’s jaw tightened. “You’re drunk.”
Soap let out a shaky laugh that didn’t sound like laughter at all. “Aye, maybe. But drunk words are sober thoughts, eh?”
“Not always,” Ghost said quietly.
Soap’s hand slammed against the wall beside, not hard, but enough to make Ghost flinch inside. “Then tell me somethin’. Am I not enough for you?”
“You’re…” Ghost swallowed hard. “You’re more than enough.”
Soap took a step back, eyes bright in the glow of the streetlamp. “Is there someone else?”
“You heard me,” Soap pressed. “You’ve got that look sometimes.. like there’s someone waitin’ for ye. Someone you keep yourself for. Is there?”
Ghost’s throat worked around a lump that wouldn’t go down. “No.”
“Then why not me?” Soap’s voice cracked, and before Ghost could move, he grabbed the man’s wrist. “Why not me, Simon?”
Ghost didn’t pull away, didn’t move at all. Just stood there, the warmth of Johnny’s hand bleeding through his own.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Ghost said, low, rough.
“I know exactly what I’m askin’ for,” Soap shot back. “I’ve known for months.” He stepped closer again, desperation bleeding through every syllable. “I know, you know it too.”
Ghost said nothing. His silence said everything.
Soap’s laugh came out broken. “Bloody hell, why do you resist this so much?”
The words hung between them, too heavy to take back. Too late to take back.
“Johnny…” Ghost’s voice softened, almost a plea. “You’re too good for this. For me.”
“Then let me decide that, aye?” Soap said, eyes glassy but fierce. “Don’t make that choice for me.”
Ghost’s jaw clenched. “You’re not thinkin’ straight.”
“Maybe not,” Soap admitted. “But I mean every word.”
The silence stretched between them, Soap took a shaky breath, voice lowering. “If you don’t feel the same… just tell me. Don’t keep stringin’ me along. Don’t keep lettin’ me hope.”
Ghost finally met his eyes. The look there was enough to burn the night down.
“I do feel it,” Ghost said quietly. “That’s the problem.”
Soap’s breath hitched. “Then what are we doin’, Simon?”
Ghost looked away, his voice a whisper. “Survivin’. That’s all I know how to do.”
Soap’s hand fell from his wrist, empty now. He gave a small, humourless laugh. “Guess I’ll keep waitin’, then. For you to learn somethin’ else.”
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.
