Ghost has spent years—decades—thinking of himself as little more than picked-over bones, abuse and trauma rotting away any exposed softness. By the time he dug himself out of his own grave, he was sure only shattered bones remained, and the skull mask and call sign were born. The shards served as a barrier, cutting anyone who dared get too close. Even Price got caught up on a razor-sharp edge now and then, though Ghost appreciated that his captain never changed how he treated Ghost.
Somehow, though, Soap dodged all those sharp edges from the start, agile enough to avoid the barbs—or at least let them slide right past him—and worm his way inside Ghost's guard in record time. And once there, Soap slipped as smooth as butter between the hard edges of bone Ghost never dared to pry apart, easing open those hairline cracks to expose a surprisingly soft underbelly—pale and tender in the light of Johnny's smile, trembling under the gentleness of his touch.
The hard edges are still there, sharp and dangerous and meant to keep others at a distance, but the deeply-buried softness has made a space for Johnny. It pulls him in and molds around his shape as if he belongs there, keeping him safe behind layers of jagged bone. Simon's softness begins and ends with Johnny. Denying it only results in frustration when he caves yet again to Johnny's subtle touches and playful demands. And Ghost can't help wondering what it would be like to stop fighting. To give Johnny access to what already belongs to him.
— not like before (when I was empty), ch. 5