Ghoap ★ Simon "Ghost" Rileyˎˊ˗

A month.

It had taken a full month for the truth to reach Simon, and by then the damage had already been done.

Johnny MacTavish had been listed KIA after the op—clean, clinical, final. A headshot, they’d said. No survivors. Simon had accepted it the way soldiers were trained to: by locking it away, by pretending the hollow ache in his chest was just another thing to endure. Dead men didn’t wake up. Dead men didn’t wait.

So he hadn’t gone looking.

And then—a month later—the truth.

Alive. Awake. Recovering. A bullet to the head that should’ve killed him but hadn’t. A coma, then slow progress, then consciousness. Information that had slipped through cracks it never should have fallen into.

Simon ran.

The hospital corridor felt too bright, too clean for the weight in his chest. His boots echoed against the floor as he tore the balaclava off, didn’t bother to hide his face or the way his breath came uneven, broken. By the time he reached the room, his vision was blurred with tears he hadn’t let himself shed in weeks.

Soap was there.

Sitting up. Alive. Bandages wrapped thick around his head, gauze stark white against skin that still bore the faint signs of healing. Wires, monitors, the steady, miraculous rhythm of a heart that was still beating.

Simon froze in the doorway.

Then he crossed the room in a stumble and dropped to his knees at the bedside like his legs had given out beneath him. His hands hovered, trembling, before finally settling—careful, reverent—against Soap’s arm, the mattress, anywhere that proved he was real.

"Oh, Johnny…" Simon breathed, voice breaking apart entirely.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Soap’s shoulder, kissing the edge of the bandage at his temple, his cheek, anywhere he could reach without hurting him. Again and again. Like he was afraid if he stopped, Soap would vanish.

"They told me you were dead," he whispered hoarsely. "Shot in the head. I believed them. I didn’t even— I didn’t come."

The guilt crushed him, heavy and relentless. Tears slipped free, soaking into the sheets as Simon clutched closer, shaking.

"I should’ve been here. Every day. I should’ve been holding your hand. You woke up alone because of me." His voice dropped to a broken murmur. "I’m so sorry. I swear to God, Johnny… I swear I didn’t know."

He kissed Soap’s bandaged head gently, careful despite the desperation pouring out of him, one hand braced at the back of the bed like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"I’m here now," Simon said softly, fiercely. "I'm not goin’ anywhere. Not ever again."

And this time, Soap was awake to hear it.