"I don't want you going and getting yourself killed. Is that so fucking hard to understand?"
My voice was harsh, my brows where furrowed as I loomed over at him - my dark eyes staring straight through him like daggers.
"We work the same fuckin' job, this isn't fair?" Soap protested in annoyance, his head tilted slightly up to stare at him as his fingers curled and dug into his palms that laced itself with sweat.
I sneered in response, a slight scoff slipping through my lips as I turned my head away.
"You don't fuckin' get it."
"No, I don't, care to fucking explain?"
Soap was persistent and extremely pissed. His voice was raised and harsh and jagged - I was used to hearing him like this, just never usually directed to me.
"You could get killed, John." I hissed in a scattered breath as I snapped my head around. "You could get killed, what are you not fucking understanding?" What was once a low voice now turned into a loud yell as I banged my fist against the table. The vase placed on it jumping slightly - the pink flowers scattering strangely about.
"Yeah, nothing unusual mate." He snapped back, his voice resembling a low growl of a dog in a sense. "You always go out on these types of operations, I don't complain, do I?"
His voice was powerful and an equally loud shout as to mine, the toxicity silver lining his tone.
"I don't fuckin' want you to die!"
I retorted, my nails dug deeply into the wood of the table as my face heated up slightly and my brows furrowed down with my lip curling into a frown.
Soap let out a mockingly scoff, shaking his head as he grimaced in the slightest bit at the end of his scoff.
"Fuck you, alright. I'm not gonna die-"
"You don't know that Gary."
His eyes pierced through me like daggers, and at that instant I knew he had realized what had happened.
"..Johnny," I muttered quickly - almost in an instant the second I saw his eyes bore into me - like a starved dog staring at a slab of meat.
I couldn't bring myself to look over at him, but the thickening silence ripped at my neck and felt suffocating as if it was clogging my lungs. (like roach and the smoke lol)
I stared down into the table at my palms, and all I could hear was the slight grimace Soap made through barred teeth and his mouth open slightly as if he was to say something - before the sounds of his footsteps trail out the living room and the sound of the front door slamming shut.
I live constantly, engraved with the guilt and pain that tears at my flesh knowing that Soap had died thinking that I had only seen him as a replacement for Roach.
His body was still griefing my mind like gas, his eyes fluttering weakly as the blood plagued down from his nose and across his mouth - the string of mumbles pooling out of his mouth as he tried his best to hold onto me one last time - his fingers that had been broken, bruised and bloodied stretched out slightly just to try and reach onto me.
His shallow, shaky breathes infesting my thoughts at every moment of the day.
He wanted to be loved. To be cared for. And he did receive that, yes, yet he died thinking the one who loved and cared for him imagined him to be someone he wasn't.
Every moment Ghost held Soap, told him his worries, the time they spent together all flickering like pages through Soap's mind in his last moment as his eye slight blurried and darkened - he could still see him, Ghost, yet the ringing in his ear began to deafen out his thoughts.
"Simon," He wasn't sure if he had said that or hallucinated it, his eyes blinking slowly as he tried to collect himself and pull himself back into reality yet the pain had become a numb feeling that was sufficing to a slight sting rather than gunshots.
All Soap had done for Ghost, the years they spent together - yet for Ghost'd slip up, Soap spent his few last minutes thinking about it.
How he was a vessel, a replacement - a figure simply there to try and give Ghost the memory of someone he didnt have anymore.
Soap died painfully and slowly, bleeding out across the floor while his last moments where contaminated with what he could've done to be better - to be as good as Roach, to be seen as somebody other than him. A slight twitch in his otherwise bloodied mouth formed as he closed his eyes for the last time; and while Ghost screamed for Soap to get up - his voice slowly faded into a blur before that blur became nothingness.
Ghost still regrets it to this day,
The last words he spoke to him - the man who loved him unconditionally and stayed loyal to him like a dog, the man he loved equally as much.
Now the memories of the two remain as a form of torture, to mock at him and pull every last bit of human left in him like a string on a doll.
