Just getting back into writing, so warning: potentially ooc Ghost.
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- cbf! Simon, who reaches out to an old acquaintance to send his first paycheck to you. He has the barracks and mess hall and knows you have no such comforts.
- cbf! Simon, who finds you left town as soon as you turned 18 from said acquaintance.
-cbf! Simon, who can't seem to track you down no matter how hard he tries. It's just like you disappeared. He can't even find any semblance of an internet presence.
-cbf! Simon, who lets it haunt him. The memories of your friendship and the absence of knowledge regarding your current life pop into his head at the worst times.
- cbf! Simon, who believes he's cursed. That he'll lose everyone he loves.
-cbf! Simon, who eventually accepts that he'll never have a bond like the two of you shared. Sure, he has his teammates. But they don't care for each other the same way you two did.
-cbf! Simon, who eventually learns to live with your absence. He even befriends his other teammates and (eventually) the tf141.
-cbf! Simon, who sees a girl eerily similar to what he imagined you'd look like, all grown up while out celebrating a successful mission with the task force.
-cbf! Simon, with a concerned Johnny, asking if he's okay as he stares at the girl with glazed over eyes.
-cbf! Simon, who hears your laugh, coming from the girls mouth. He immediately stands up to push Johnny away and head towards the bar.
-cbf! Simon, who approaches you with Johnny hot on his heels.
-cbf! Simon, who sees the confused look in your eyes as he approaches you and feels an ache in his chest.
-cbf! Simon, who has to make sure it's you. He calls out your name, and there's recognition on your face. Towards the name, not him.
-cbf! Simon, who's crushed when you ask, "Do I know you?" As if seeing the hurt in his eyes, you add, "Sorry. Can't really recognize you with the mask on mate."
-cbf! Simon, who doesn't think twice before ripping his balaclava. He thinks he hears a gasp come from Johnny. But all that matters is the look in your eyes.
-cbf! Simon, who almost collapses as he hears you mumble, "Simon?"
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If this does well, I'd like to make it into a short fic:)
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Summary: After meeting in elementary school, you and Simon hit it off, becoming best friends before miscommunications leads you two to lose contact for years, before meeting again at an airport.
Word Count: ~ 1.9k
Warnings: allusions to an abusive dad (simon’s), period blood, partial nudity?? (not sexual at all), mentions of family death
A/N: ok I actually really like this one, it can be read as either platonic or romantic, and I might expand on it later when I’m not so flooded (I have 9000 wips😭), hope you enjoy<3
Requests are open!
It had all started one morning, in an old public school. The first day of 2nd grade.
You’d sat down near the middle, not wanting the attention of being in the front or back, preferring to be farthest from the teacher. He’d sat down in the back, on the desk behind you.
The teacher, an older woman with frizzy, short hair and thick bangs, had passed out pieces of paper with little plastic bowls of macaroni and instructed each of you to take out your glue bottle and stick the macaroni pieces down to make the shape of an apple. He hadn’t brought anything to class, mumbling something about ‘forgetting’ his backpack before thanking you when you decided to share.
You remembered seeing the splotchy bruises on his skin, on his too-skinny knees, and wondering where they were from. His blonde, greasy hair, almost looked brown. He had blonde eyelashes, that was what you remembered the most.
You’d knocked your bowl of macaroni off your desk, and everyone had turned their heads to you, the chatting of other children stopping as some giggled. He watched as your ears turned red from embarrassment, and you got up, kneeling on the floor to pick up each and every piece, one by one. He’d gotten up too, deciding that he would make whatever was between you two even by helping.
“I’m (Y/N),”
You’d murmured, offering a little strained, nervous smile. He’d glanced up at you, and nodded, swallowing as his Adam’s Apple bobbed.
“Simon.”
He whispered back. You had smiled a bit at that, and he’d assumed you were just mentally laughing at him, until you’d whispered something to him about having an old dog named Simon, one of those crusty white mutts that would bark at everything, could barely see, and would hump everyone’s legs.
He’d snorted at that.
The other kids had moved their focus back onto their crafts by then, and you’d written your address on the back of an index card, passing it to him, whispering for him to come visit on Saturday afternoon, that he could play games with you and your neighborhood friends.
He’d come and gotten to know all of them. Some of the only childhood friends he’d had, considering the people who lived in his neighborhood didn’t have any kids, or not good ones to hang around with unless you were looking to get addicted to something, anyway.
He’d finally met your parents, being welcomed in, your mother taking some of his torn jeans and pants to stitch up for him, giving him food to take home, your father helping with homework after school, teaching him how to fix things, helping teach him woodwork and how a man should act, caring for his family, how to be respectful to women. He started getting invited to Thanksgiving, essentially staying at your house every day after school to escape his actual dad waiting at home.
He’d been there when you’d first gotten your period, waking up to your hushed panicked whispers to yourself, walking over only to cover his eyes as he tried to erase the sight of your pants and underwear, both stained with blood, pulled down. You held a tampon in one hand and squealed as you saw him.
“Hey, it’s just me—“
“Oh god, Simon, I don’t know what to do—my mom only uses tampons and I don’t want that inside of me-!”
“Just..uh…shove toilet paper in your underwear.”
“No! I need pads, shit-shit-shit, we don’t have any…”
He’d seen the tears welling in your eyes as he peeked out from his hands, keeping his eyes strictly on your face. He knew what he had to do, even as his cheeks turned bright red.
“I could, I dunno, go buy some? There’s that little shop like five minutes away?”
“Oh, thank god, there’s twenty bucks under my plant on my dresser, you can use that. Thank you, Si.”
He’d run to the little shop, bought the pads using the twenty bucks, despite the weird looks the cashier and men in the store had given him, and run straight back, handing you the pad and reading the instructions from the back of the box to try and help you figure it out together with him.
He’d been there for your first boyfriend, some guy with no real personality outside of being tall and good at basketball, but you’d both broken up abruptly because he’d simply gotten bored of you. He’d comforted you then, and you’d comforted him after his first girlfriend cheated on him.
High school had come. He survived the first two years only because you helped him through it, basically tutoring him through all of Geometry and the advanced classes he somehow tested into, and he’d taken you to all the fast food restaurants you’d craved in the middle of the night in exchange. He dropped out Junior year, and because of being held back for ‘disruptive behavior’ in his elementary school, he was already 18.
He didn’t know how to drop the bombshell that he was going to the military, having already applied, and been accepted, he was expected to report in only a day.
So he wrote a letter, saying everything about how he would miss you, and that he’d bring you home all sorts of trinkets, and that you’d both be best friends forever, even when he went into the military and escaped his father for good. He’d thanked you for everything, saying he’d see you again soon, and he’d visit again as soon as possible.
Except that, between all the missions, a few injuries that hospitalized him, and then the training he had to undergo to be put back in his Task Force, and everything he witnessed, it was a couple of years until he finally went back.
But when he did go back, getting off of the flight, speeding the entire way to your house, hopping out, he knocked on the door, newly painted with the yard trimmed nearly, a few different decorations and flowers in place now, it was a stranger who opened the door. A stranger said that he didn’t know who Simon was looking for and that he’d owned this house for a good four years now.
Simon had assumed you’d moved on. Gone on for better things than him. Little did he know, his father had found the letter in the mailbox, mailed to go to your house, since Simon knew you might find it too soon if he put it right in your mailbox, and his father had opened it, and promptly thrown it in their fireplace, watching it burn to ash.
You didn’t know where your best friend had gone. He’d just…disappeared with no word, and after all of his family tragically died a year or two after, you’d gone to the funerals, and not seen a trace of him. Here you were now, standing and waiting for your flight back home from visiting some family that lived far away, messy bun holding your greasy hair up, eye bags prevalent as you hadn’t cared to put on makeup, wearing the most atrocious but comfortable outfit possible, and you saw it.
A pair of blue eyes that looked all too familiar.
He was with three other men, one looking old enough to be your father, with a gruff beard and weathered demeanor, another with a Mohawk, wearing a small grin as he nodded at something, the other silent and listening with a smile, and him.
He was wearing a cloth mask, the sort that had been mandated throughout countries not too long ago. It had a skull pattern, one you recognized from the countless nights his older brother, Tommy, had worn a skull mask and scared the wits out of both you and Simon. You still remembered his shrilly squeals of terror as he booked it, running for the hills.
“Simon?”
His head snapped in your direction so fast you thought he might have a whiplash injury. They all paused, a bit of surprise, and a hint of suspicion and mistrust in their expressions as they watched him yank his mask off, face one of shock, before he ran over to you.
You laughed in pure sleep-deprived shock, embracing him in a hug as he gave you a fat kiss on the cheek, he sighed.
“Thought I’d never see you again. By the time I went back, you were already gone. Guess you read the letter, huh?”
He felt a bit of embarrassment bubbling up at the memory of his teenage self crying while writing that letter, all of his angsty little thoughts spilling out into what he thought might be a final goodbye.
“What letter?”
You both looked up at each other confused, and it was his turn to laugh in disbelief.
“I, uh, made a letter. Tellin’ you I was going off to the military, that I’d be back. I thought I mailed it to you, must’ve forgotten through the nerves.”
The other men finally began approaching. They’d never seen their Ghost look so nervous before, going back to stuttering, rubbing the back of his neck, grinning nervously while looking at the floor.
“Ghost? Who’s this?”
The gruff man asked. You raised a brow.
“Ghost? Seriously?”
Simon huffed elbowing you in the side, watching you wince slightly. He forgot how strong he was, sometimes. Maybe it was because he was always surrounded by people who were just as large as he was, that he wasn’t used to being around civilians anymore.
“Ah, this is Captain MacTavish and Captain Price—“
“Christ’s sake, we’re off base, just tell the lass our names.”
He saw the way your grin widened at his Captain’s Scottish accent, meeting his gaze with a look of wonder.
“Right, John Price, John MacTavish, and that’s Gary.”
“What’s Gary’s special name?”
You watched as Simon’s lips twitched up a moment, before responding.
“Roach.”
You busted out laughing, and soon enough the older men were joining in too, while poor Gary just cringed and turned redder by the second.
“Gonna introduce me, Si?”
You finally asked once the laughing fit was over, and he nodded, throat suddenly drying up as he realized he didn’t know a proper title for you. Friend? Were you two even more than acquaintances after all these years? His brain seemed to decide for him, as he spoke.
“This is my best friend, (Y/N).”
The men raised brows at that, but Price only chuckled, jerking his head to the airport’s hallway.
“This has been a lovely reunion, but we need to find a place to sleep, best friend or not.”
He’d said, giving a smile that felt a bit passive-aggressive to Simon, considering how he was tired, hungry, and just wanted to rent a hotel room for the night already, and the words had tumbled out of your mouth before you’d thought it through.
“You could just stay with me. We’ve got plenty of catching up to do, anyway.”
You’d said, giving a pointed glance at Simon, who’d smirked ever so slightly.
“How about it, lads?”
MacTavish had asked, and after a collective nod from everyone, he sealed your fate with a simple sentence.
