shadoesx

Your Wost Nightmare.

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OH MY GOD.

the AMOUNT OF EMOTIONS THAT I FELT FROM THIS SHOULD BE ILLEGAL. ITS LITERALLY UNREAL.

I COULD CRUMBLE IN ON MYSELF, IMPLODE, PERISH FROM THESE FEELINGS.

this

is writing, art, if you must.

I absolutely look forward to more of this, kudos.

GhostSoap AU Concept - blind love

Soap is an army vet who lost his sight in an explosion. He now works as a masseur, he's good with his hands and his options are limited.

Ghost is a scarred, disfigured man in pain with insecurities he hid behind thick walls and a mask.

Ghost's body is a mess of injuries old and new, he can't even remember what it's like to not be in pain but always pushes through it. That he's getting older doesn't help either.

Until his back locks up mid mission and he's left in pain that has him limping and wincing.

Price has had enough of him dodging the question and actually orders him to get it looked at. Ghost refuses. First, he will not take off his shirt in front of a stranger, and he most certainly will NOT let a stranger touch him.

Price sighs and says he knows just the place.

If it wasn't an order Ghost wouldn't be here, no way in hell. He's just gonna go in, tell the guy to say he was here and leave.

It's a small parlour, if it can even be called that. A small two story building with a tiny waiting room and a door leading to the back.

But it was at the edge of town away from the bustle of the city, the wilderness literally just across the river next to it.

It helped a bit, the place being so out of the way. Ghost appreciated privacy, after all.

There was no one in the waiting room, but the door jingled when he entered. Soon enough a voice yells 'with you in a sec!', accent thick and Scottish.

THAT was unexpected. He was expecting a woman, possibly old and creepy. It helped a little bit more.

Then the door to the back swung open and he lost his breath a little.

The man walks out with a beaming smile, hair in a fkn mohawk that somehow looked great on him, built like a damn rugby player.

But it was his eyes.

A striking deep blue, but clouded.

At Ghost's silence the man's smile is a bit more forced. "I can tell you're there, ya know."

Ghost snapped out of his daze and stuck out his hand in greeting, then felt like a fking idiot and yanked it back. "It's Ghost, I mean, Simon. Price called about me."

"Ah. The lieutenant! Price told me you might be a flight risk," he chuckled, but somehow it didn't feel condescending or cruel as laughter towards him usually was. It was friendly, warm.

He felt entirely off kilter.

"I'm John MacTavish, call me Soap." He stuck out his hand. Ghost took it and shook, feeling callouses on his soft hands.

"Kind of name is Soap?"

Soap smiled. "It was my call sign. Was called by it so long anything else feels odd."

"You're military?"

"Was. Just entered SAS when," he gestures at his eyes with a strained smile.

Ghost didn't know how to respond, which Soap must've picked up on too cause he quickly followed with a "So! Shall we get started?"

Without waiting for a response, Soap walked to the back, Ghost snapping out of it and following after a beat.

He stood in the doorway and looked around. It had soft lighting, soft music from somewhere that sounded almost Celtic, it smelled... Amazing. Gentle and warm, but no distinct scent he could place.

Soap was moving around with precision, washing his hands and putting things ready.

Ghost had fully intended to go through with his plan - pay the masseuse to tell Price he was here then leave. Maybe buy a heat patch form the pharmacy.

But here, now, in this room with Soap - a veteran who'll understand, who can't see how ugly disfigured he is...

He decides to give it a chance. For the first time since he became a dead man, he's going to get out of his shell and try to take care of himself, to stop waiting for his inevitable death and actually work towards getting better.

In the best hands he could wish for.

OH MY GOD.

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