1.8k | angst
Soap couldn’t handle his emotions (p1) (p5)
Maybe it was his fault this time.
That he snapped at you, at an unassuming comment about his laundry on the floor. You didn’t even complain, no malice in your voice as you put the clothes away.
He took a second to register what he’d said. When he looked up, you froze at the foot of the bed clutching his damned shirt. You frowned, blinking fast. A look he’d known all too well these past few months.
Yet instead of acknowledging it, Johnny let you leave the room. It was cruel, how the more he needed to apologise, the harder it was for the words to come out - he choked on them.
No words were exchanged for the rest of the day, the last day before another mission. He had his dinner at the table staring at the empty seat across him while you had yours on the couch. Without kisses nor cuddles, he rolled into bed wordlessly and left before the sun rose.
You had always known what he was like - you were friends for years before love graced. You knew what kind of responsibilities he carried, the weight of his job and the uncertainty of it. Yet you wanted it all.
He had reassured you he would step up his game, to be there for you as much as he could, no matter where he was. He promised you, perhaps foolishly, to give you everything you wanted. You finally saw him as someone more than a friend, and he couldn’t let the chance go. No, he was going to jump at the opportunity with his whole weight.
So he made these promises – promises so melodic – he wanted to fulfil with the entirety of his soul just for you. He meant everything he said, but maybe it was silly of you to believe him.
As it turned out, despite knowing someone for so long - regardless how deeply you thought you knew them - when a friendship was to ever evolve into a relationship, their darker sides would inevitably come to light.
Like how he shut down after some missions, slipping into the void for days and days. Time and again he brought someone else home, someone mean and bitter, devoid of affection. It wasn’t Johnny you ate with, not him who sat on the couch or lay with you in bed. He wasn’t the gentle Johnny you fell in love with.
Before you dated, it didn’t use to matter what he was like. He shut down in private, hurting nobody because nobody was ever there, when he had no responsibility to be nice to anyone. As a friend, you didn’t bleed so far into his life. To you, this part of him didn’t exist.
Behind his easy demeanour and smug smiles, his heart was an endless ocean he was drowning in. Always fiercely loyal, stubborn with his beliefs: you could always count on him, but what once drew you to him, was the very thing that pushed you away.
Weeks later, Johnny came back to an empty house. The lights off, the shoe rack bare – he used to comment that you owned too many shoes on those days. The bedroom void of your belongings, dust in their wake. Your key lay on his nightstand.
His calls went straight to voicemail that night. He scoffed, thinking it was a petty stunt you pulled to get him to act right. Okay, he could live another night without you. He didn’t worry – you always forgave him.
The next day, he went to your workplace only to find out you had moved jobs. The weight of his three-week deployment crashed on him, how much could change in such a short time.
You never picked up his calls and he still waited to hear from you. But the days turned to weeks, and before he knew it, he was deployed again.
It occurred to him you’d checked out right there and then, on that day he saw you last. So it was true: if you fought for it, you still cared… But you didn’t anymore, and how he wished you still did.
Johnny knew you weren’t selfish for demanding these things from him, to expect warmth from him, to feel safe and loved. This was the bare minimum to give in a relationship, the things he even had the need to promise you. You had all the right to hold his words up against him, but you didn’t. You were too kind, too understanding, or naïve - he couldn’t tell, but shame was all he had left, the kind that made his skin crawl.
The next time Johnny came back, the house stood as he left it. The layer of dust on the counters thicker than the last. He still hadn’t heard from you.
You used to spend a lot of time in the kitchen, dancing around together as dinner cooked. He claimed your handwritten recipes with ‘I love you, Johnny’ scrawled in the corner of every card magically granted him the talent to cook edible food. He used to kiss you there too, trapping you against the counter as he caressed your cheek.
But now even the simplest dishes didn’t taste the same. He stared at the recipe cards laid across the table, barely tasting his meal as his fingertips ran over the texture of your words. He wished you sat there across him.
Maybe it really was his fault. That he promised you things he’d never done before, even that he really wanted to. That he was built of parts too vicious for himself to grasp, let alone for you to embrace.
Maybe he hurt you into not caring anymore, that you eventually left. Because he didn’t sort out his baggage. It littered the corridors of your shared home, leaving you to tiptoe for months, trying your best not to trip, just sweeping around it.
Johnny started sleeping on your side of the bed, as if it was going to make him feel less hollow. He hoped he could still smell you, but it’d been so long that not much at all remained. He whispered good night into the still air, as if you were there, remembering how warm you lay in his arms. He made sure to put his clothes in the laundry basket, his cups in the sink like it still mattered. He left your key under the mat, if you ever changed your mind.
He rinsed and repeated - deployed and discharged - to an equally still house. His home became the last place he wanted to be. He wished the bloody baggage he’d been hell bent on keeping would fill the void of his chest, even a tiny bit. It was to blame after all.
It had been three months since he saw you last. He was irrational to be waiting around. You were one to keep your word, never going back on it. Not because of pride, but because of the caution and time you took before making your decisions.
Still, he clutched onto the thinnest sliver of hope.There was nothing else he could lose of himself that you hadn’t taken with your departure.
He knew it was his fault. That he let his ego get in the way, not wanting to look weak in front of you. He couldn’t grasp why the thought terrified him. He didn’t understand why he hid, denying you the chance to love him whole.
Maybe he had an inkling deep down this whole time after all. Maybe he was onto something when he said he didn’t want a relationship – because he couldn’t, even when he said it because he only wanted you, to let you know you had no competition to win him. That his heart was already yours if you ever wanted it.
Yet, after years of trying to get you to see him as more, he let you go. He fucked up. He never stopped loving you, but unbeknownst to him his demons proved greater than him. He had to hurt you to know he wasn’t enough for you.
You knew he wasn’t a bad person. Johnny was the furthest thing from evil. He didn’t break your heart on purpose, no matter how many times he did. As great as he was, there were some things he couldn’t do, like putting the work into maintaining a relationship.
You understood. There were simply parts about his job you would never fully comprehend, the sort of trauma that came with it. You accepted that it was a bridge you might never cross.
You were never mad that some things couldn’t be changed no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, you quietly removed yourself from the situation, to let him be, but most importantly, to let yourself find your own happiness. You loved him so much more than you could ever put into words and as much as it wrecked you to walk away, you hoped for him to find his peace. He didn’t need any more stress than what his job already granted him.
But it really was his fault – he could feel the chill in his bones as he ate another sorry dinner alone.
Maybe it was doomed from the very start, that two fires withdrew upon collision and attempts to reconcile were too often met with unmoving pride. Or because you started as friends, risking everything, where losing you meant losing both his friend and love.
Johnny would kill to go back to that, to have a crumb of you back in his life. He wished you still fought for you and him, still cared, still cried. He wished he could have all the problems he had back. He wished you still gave him pins and needles from sleeping on his arm and woke him when you went to the loo in the middle of the night. He wished your shoes still cluttered the doorway, indecisive about which pair to wear as you rushed out. His worst days with you were still far better than his best days now.
If you walked through that damned door again, he’d never let you go. The most grateful smile would crack his face in half. Your eyes would be bright, calling out his name as you toed your favourite boots off. He’d greet you with a kiss if you didn’t beat him to it already. He’d make it all alright, if he had the chance.
He wished he’d kissed you more. He wished he’d told you how much he loved you even more – way more. He wished he knew your last kiss was the last, so he could savour and scorch it onto his brain.
He wished for so much now. How foolish of him, when those gentle eyes weren’t his to look at anymore.
Hi, for the wip ask game, bff Soap Hurt Comfort? :') please and thank you!
for the wip ask game--lighter, sweeter bff!Soap. you're meeting him at the airport. he's coming home after being MIA. scared you to death.
this one is short, so here it is edited + posted in full. for the hurt/comfort girlies :)
600 words / 23
…
“Thought you couldna live without me, eh?”
You tackle Soap in a hug, tactical gear and all. "Shut up. Shut up. God, you're alive."
He laughs and returns the embrace. "Too stubborn to die. I thought I told you not to worry about me."
You grip the straps on the back of his vest and keep your face in his chest to hide the tears threatening to track down your cheeks. "You can't just say that and go MIA. They talked about putting your name on a memorial and everything."
"You know me. Always gotta do things my way."
"Your way is stupid."
He chuckles and rubs your back. "Yeah, I'm stupid. I've missed you, though. I haven't stopped thinkin' bout you."
"Really? Cause I..." The dam breaks. You can't stop the flood of hot, angry tears. "I missed you too." Then you start sobbing. God, it's embarrassing. But you refuse to let go of him.
He strokes your hair. "Hen, don't cry. Please. I'm here and I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm your man, aye?"
You shake your head, stubbornly refusing to move.
He rests his cheek on you. "I don't want you to be sad. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I love you."
Hearing him say that just makes your heart skip before the tears come out faster. You love him, too, more than a friend should. How could anyone not fall in love with him? He's Johnny. It's just that you were always too chickenshit to tell him. You thought you lost your chance.
"Come on, look at me."
"No," you mutter, refusing to unbury your face from his shirt. Scared to, maybe. "I don't want you to make it up to me. I want to stay here."
"That's no problem. We can stay here for however long. I just need to know you're not upset at me. I can't stand seein' you sad. Makes me sad."
You sniff. "You deserve it."
"Aye, I do. But what can I do to cheer you up'?"
"Nothing," you mumble into his chest. "I've been crying for two weeks because of you."
You try to collect yourself anyway, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. His squadmates stand a little ways away from the terminal, looking curious at this scene you're causing. This isn't exactly how you wanted to meet them. You're supposed to be Johnny's cool best friend, not a weepy mess.
Johnny recaptures your attention, wiping away a stray tear track with his thumb. "You've been cryin' about me?"
You shove him, but it's light and there's no anger in it. "Of course I have, asshole, you're my best friend. They said you were MIA. Why wouldn't I cry?"
He grins. "But I'm here now, though. Could use a wee bit of comforting myself. You mind?"
You sniff, nodding as you press your sleeves into your eyes one more time to dry them. He's right. He's the one who's been away from home for a month. Probably endured some draconian shit, missing for two weeks and all. But the way he's looking at you through those blue eyes of his... it's not fair how easy it is to fall under his spell again.
"Yeah. I guess. What do you want? More fawning and crying?"
He laughs softly and pulls you into another tight hug. He presses a kiss to your temple, and you have to act like it doesn't make your heart explode into tiny pieces. He rests his chin on the top of your head, content to keep you here, totally enveloped in his frame. "Mm, that'll do. Just to start."
