Olliver Lyomi

Price would argue it was Las Almas when Ghost had guided Soap through the city and watched his six even though he was nowhere close to him. 

Gaz suggested it was when Soap had become transfixed on watching Ghost’s muscles when he was showing the recruits some new training moves and actually whimpered at seeing him throw someone around. 

Alejandro posted the theory that it was, again, in Las Almas but this time when Ghost had shown them all his face and Johnny had gotten to see just how bonnie Simon was. 

Rudy just gave him that Look, the signature Rodolfo Parra look, that said ‘bitch you’ve been in love with him since you came out the womb’, which honestly terrified Soap a little. 

Even Laswell had thrown in the suggestion that it was when Ghost had been fussing over Soap after he’d nearly been thrown out the window and Soap had some form of masochism kink that meant he now got himself hurt more just so Ghost would look after him. 

All fair suggestions. Bit on the nose sometimes, but fair suggestions.

Sometimes false too, Johnny would just like it to be known. Its not like he purposefully got himself hurt. But that’s beside the point. 

All he knew, really, was that he was in love with Ghost. 

Like, madly head over heels would retire and marry him and grow old with him in the jungle if Ghost asked him to. And Johnny had detested jungle training on selection, that’s how willing he was to do whatever Ghost wanted. Because Simondeserved it. 

But really, deep down, Soap did know. 

At least, he knew what had made him realise it. 

He couldn’t really forget it, either.

It had become an unofficial favourite past time of them both. Just after midnight, not too late that they’d both feel the effects in the morning, but just late enough that everyone else would be in bed, they’d both venture down to the kitchen attached to the 141’s quarters. Soap would end up sitting on the counter with a cup of hot chocolate between his hands, and Ghost would be stood leaning beside him, ankles crossed with a cup of tea (naturally) in hand. It wasn’t even small talk that they’d make, too busy nattering away like the old women that his Ma complained about who’d sit on the benches in town. 

Soap had learnt everything he could about Simon in those nights. It wasn’t Ghost that joined him, it was Simon. 

Learning what Simon’s favourite colour was (yellow, because he liked the sun), how he took his tea (splash of milk, leave the tea bag in for ten seconds, give it a squeeze so its not a builder’s brew but had a good colour to it, no sugar), his favourite sport (Formula 1, which Soap thought was fitting considering how often Ghost crashed whilst driving), his nephew’s favourite toy (an airplane that Ghost had bought him back from the States). 

In turn, Ghost had learnt everything about Soap. His favourite film, his favourite art tools, the first boy he kissed that made him realise he may be a good catholic boy but he was also very invested in committing sin, all of his sisters names, and that when Soap was a wee lad he’d wanted to be in the fire service until his Ma had confirmed that meant he wasn’tallowed to set fires but more had to stop them. 

Simon was Johnny’s best friend, but he was also the person that Johnny fell in love with. Sitting on the counter, their bodies pressed against the length of each other, matching ugly mugs in hand, and Soap had fallen in love with him. 

The only person who was lucky enough to see Simon on a daily basis and to know the man behind the mask, stupid jokes and loving nature falling hand in hand with everything else that Johnny loved about him. 

“-And Price says Nik will be there, which we both know means-”

“That he’ll spend more time pretending he’s not in love with him than not, and we’ll have front row seats to that,” Johnny interrupted. Truthfully, he didn’t fully know what Simon was telling him, something about Nikolai coming to base soon to join Price and Gaz on a mission somewhere, the details easily lost on Johnny when he had more important things peopleSimon to think about. But when everyone knew that the Captain had a crush on Nikola that was the size of fuckin’ Russia anyway, it was easy enough to pick up on where Simon was going with his little speech. 

“Should just get his head out his arse and admit it. They’re so fuckin’ married,” Simon admonished, lip curling up behind his cup as he took a sip whilst Johnny laughed. 

“Love’s a tricky ol’ mistress, Lt., ye gotta give the old men time!”

Simon shot him a deadpan look behind the mug as he said, “Johnny, if the old men take any more time, they’ll be fuckin nine-hundred years old and buried six foot under before they admit it. Everyone with eyes can see they want to fuck.”

Johnny, unfortunately, had to turn his head to the side and spit his sip of hot chocolate down the sink as he erupted into further giggles. He knew Simon had a wicked sense of humour, and yet it still caught him off-guard every single time Simon would say this shit. 

“And they say romance is fuckin’ dead, Si,” Johnny laughed, wiping his mouth from the remnants of chocolate and coughing out his splutters. 

“Who needs romance when we’ve got this, eh?” Simon nudged as he shot Johnny a look that he had no fucking clue how to interpret. 

Especially not when he felt the way he did about Simon. 

When Simon was the first person he wanted to talk to in the mornings, the last person he wanted to see at night. When Simon was the one that he’d crawl into bed beside and know he was safe when the nightmares stopped him sleeping. When Simon was the one who had his six and scared death himself from taking Johnny. 

“Sure, Lt., romance is awesome when it’s with ye.”

“Just me?” Simon asked and turned so the his hip was pressing into the counter and his gaze was fixed solely on Johnny. “Or is it good with someone else?”

For a moment, Johnny felt his heart stop. He stared at Simon, taking in the soft look in his eyes and the gentle curve of his lips, the lack of judgment in his eyes and the way that he was able to strip back every single piece of what made Soap Johnny and see the boy beneath the man.

And he knew. He knew right then and there that whatever he’d been hiding, Simon had known it all along. 

“Ye fuckin’ bastard, ye know, don’t ye?”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve Johnny,” he whispered, putting his cup down to cup Johnny’s jaw with a burning hand. Though, the burning may just be from how warm Johnny felt at getting to finally feel Simon’s bared love. 

Johnny didn’t know exactly when he’d fallen in love with Simon, but Simon knew when it was. 

And when he leaned in, their lips pressing together and Johnny’s hand coming up to cover Simon’s against his jaw and slot his fingers into the gaps between Simon’s, he could taste the tea on his lips and he knew. 

This was when he’d fallen in love with Simon Riley. 

Simon cradled him like he was something precious, his fingers warm and strong against him, and Johnny melted. 

Slowly, Johnny placed the cup back down on the counter and moved his arm to wrap around Simon’s shoulders. He spread his knees so that he could pull Simon between them. With every movement, Johnny refused to break their kiss, not now he’d finally gotten Simon exactly where he wanted him. 

He felt Simon huff a laugh against his lips when Johnny whined at him trying to separate them. 

“My tea’s gonna get cold.”

“Fuckin’ Brits,” Johnny muttered, but didn’t allow Simon to move back and take his tea. No matter how hard Simon tried. Johnny wasn’t losing his first kiss with Simon to tea. He refused. 

It was bad enough that he had to taste tea whilst he kissed him, he didn’t need to lose him to tea too. 

Instead, Simon’s hand slipped down his body, still joined with Johnny’s, until it came to rest on his waist. A small whimper escaped when Simon pulled him in close, his hand slipping up into Simon’s hair and tugging at the nape of his neck. Their lips moved slowly against each other, fitting together perfectly just like they were made for each other. 

Made for each other, just like they made their midnight drinks for each other.