SoapGhost - Cancer (MCR)

Ghost sat awfully still in his hospital bed- most of the room was white, sterile.
He looked to the orange flowers on the windowsill. His eyes softened as he watched
the bright petals, even as they just sat there- his only company at the moment. He
let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, tired. He was always tired, nowadays. Could
barely keep his eyes open.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Ghost hummed, the first thing he noticed was
the cologne- too tired to really open his eyes. "Johnny." He smiled softly, "what
brings your arse here? You don't like hospitals." He finally forced his eyelids
open, turning to the door where Soap stood uncomfortably, hovering and fiddling.

"Are you coming in?" Ghost asked, huffing, "there's plenty of places to sit."

Soap averted his eyes, as if it were a sin to glance upon a dying ghost- paler than
he'd ever been, even without sun- under his mask. Sickly. It didn't fit him, Soap
decided, and he didn't want to be close- so he sat in a place that was between too
close and not close enough. Want and need. A want to comfort, to hold Ghost- to
hold /Simon/ and a need to remember Ghost as the fire in his eyes and not the
artificial light of his hospital room.

"I miss when you actually talked to me." Ghost hummed bluntly, not looking Soap's
way either. Two could play at that game.

Soap bit the fiery retort that had almost spilled from his tongue. Ghost's reaction
was justified- he didn't deserve this. "Sorry, LT." He mumbled, they still weren't
looking at each other, but something in the air had eased.

Sight had more to do with this than either of them realized. Because sooner or
later, they'd have to realize they were both going to live in a world where they
don't have each other. Soap would have to watch Ghost deteriorate, slow at first-
then quick as if he'd never been there in the first place. He'd never get a real
grave. Johnny would keep the ashes. And he'd be a real ghost.

Then Simon would have to watch Johnny stay the same, of course he'd look more
tired, more skinny- less sane. But he'd still be so bright, orange- like the petals
that fell from the flowers on the windowsill.

Soap was funny in that way, Ghost decided, because he was like those flowers.
Bright, incredibly bright, but slowly falling apart. Maybe they were both funny in
that way. Nothingness glazed his thoughts as he finally really looked at Soap. The
rawness of who he was.

Soap did the same, and their eyes met in an incredibly real, fragile moment that
both of them felt. They were going to leave each other and there was nothing they
could do about it.