SoapGhost - Cancer (MCR)

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

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Ghost hummed, the first thing he noticed was
the cologne, he was 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 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 groused 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, his silence. "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. 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 flower on the windowsill.

Soap was funny in that way, Ghost decided, because he was so 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, who he would be.

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

Johnny was the one to break first, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks before
his shoulders tensed-.. and he was crying. He covered his face with his hand,
shaking his head in a silent apology. The room was filled with nothing but his
small attempts to quiet himself, if only for Simon's sake.

Simon was quiet for the most part, eyes lidded from where he was looking at his
Johnny, his sun. He was still beautifully bright, even in his moment of darkness,
as all eclipses were. "Johnny," he hummed, throat rather dry, "c'mere." He waited
for Soap, watching as he tensed for a moment before he made his way over, hand away
from his face. He was no longer making much noise, his lip trembling from the
effort of not crying, eyes still red and watery.

Ghost weakly pulled him down onto his chest, hand threading into his hair through
his glove. "I'm not scared." It was a beautiful lie, he'd always been scared of
death. He had assumed it would come as a surprise, an enemy around the corner he
just couldn't see in time. Maybe it was fitting that he'd been given a time table,
that he'd likely know when it was his time, and that it was his own body that had
betrayed him. He held Johnny close, feeling and hearing how he'd started crying
again, louder this time. It left a feeling in his chest he couldn't explain, maybe
a guilt for leaving him here by himself. He looked at the flower again, it seemed
so frail, like its petals would fall with every passing second.

"Why are you-" Soap hiccuped, "not angry? I would be so-.. so *mad*.." his hand
gripped onto Ghost's tightly, as if holding it would keep him there longer. He gave
a watery laugh, "I'd be pissed."

Simon smiled. He shook his head, rubbing the other's back with his gloved hand, "I
don't want that to be the last thing I feel." A needle of pain shot through his
chest and he grunted, uncomfortably taking in deeper breaths of air. "Can you lay
down next to me?"

"I- I should get a nurse," Soap pleaded, heart dropping as Ghost shook his head.
"Please? Please, Ghost, you-"

"Simon."

"..what?" Soap swallowed, hot tears falling down his face.

"Call me Simon." Ghost grunted, patting the spot next to him. "Lay down." It was
starting to get harder to breathe, but he just did his best to calm his heart so
Soap wouldn't pick up on his fear. So Johnny wouldn't worry about him.

Johnny laid down next to him, hand intertwining with Ghost's limp one. "Don't leave
me ‘ere."

"You know I don't have a choice, Johnny." Simon closed his eyes, wincing as he took
deeper breaths to make up for the lack of air getting into his lungs. "Can you do
me a favor?" He asked, pleading to his Sun, his light, his life. He felt the other
nod next to him.

"Bury me with orange flowers, yeah?"

Everything that happened after that was a blur to Soap. They could've sat there for
seconds, minutes, hours... everything just blurred together and smudged with every
thought that it was *wrong* and Simon was so, so *still*. He looked at the flower
on the windowsill, a petal falling to the floor.

Soap trembled, staring at the floor of the waiting room where he'd been dragged to
after... everything. He was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees and shaking his
head in disbelief.
There was a hand on his shoulder, so he looked up. Price, his Captain, looking down
at him with this... guilt in his eyes. Along with something akin to sorrow and
condolence. He didn't hear what he said, couldn't hear through the ringing in his
ears, but appreciated the warm embrace he was given.

Simon was gone and the Moon to his Sun shone no more.