#i like

NNNOOOOOOOO LET HIM GOOOO!!!! (I used Final Wars Goji cos he's cool)

cw: priceghost. emotional angst/comfort. brief reference to past torture.

Ghost jolted awake to the sound of something heavy hitting the floor He was upright before his mind completely woke.

It was the lamp at Price's bedside, Price must have knocked it. He was awake, had been for a while—or maybe not, Ghost couldn't tell—sitting against the headboard with sheets kicked off, staring at nothing with the particular blankness of a man trying to hold everything together through sheer force of will.

Ghost stood up from the chair. "Captain..."

"Go back to sleep."

"I wasn't asleep."

Price's eyes cut to him. "Then go back to pretending to be."

Ghost crossed his arms and stayed where he was. "How long have you been up?"

"Don't." The word came out with an edge to it Ghost didn't quite expect."Don't do the thing where you stand there and wait me out. I'm not in the mood."

You're not in a state to be left alone either, Ghost thought, but he didn't say it. He looked at Price, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his hands were pressed flat against his thighs, forcing them still instead of the self-soothing motion they wanted, and Ghost felt, not for the first time tonight, the uncomfortable thought slide through him.

Laswell should be here. Or Nik. Someone who knows how to bloody do this properly.

He wasn't built for this. With some of the soldiers. In the field. Occasionally. But not this. Not with his captain.

But Laswell was stateside and Nik was four time zones away and he was the one in the chair. So.

He walked over and sat on the edge of the bunk. Price stiffened.

"I said—"

"I heard you." Ghost kept his eyes on the wall in front of him. "I'm sitting down."

"Ghost."

"John."

For a moment, it stayed like that. Price's breathing was too controlled, too manual. Then something shook through it.

"You don't want to be here for this," he said. "Trust me."

"I'm already here."

"Then you're an idiot."

"Probably," Ghost said.

Price made a huff of a laugh through his nose. His hands pressed harder against his thighs. Ghost could see the tension running up through his arms, his jaw, the old instinct to lock it all down before it spread, thick and dark and viscous to those around.

"Tell me about the nightmare," Ghost said.

Price shook his head. "No."

"John—"

"I said no." It was sharp. The captain's voice, not John's. "You don't need to hear it. I don't need to say it. That's not—" He stopped, he swallowed. "That's not how this works."

Ghost looked at him for a moment. Then said, quietly: "Krasnoyarsk. December. Do you remember what you told me?"

Price's eyes closed. He sighed and tucked his chin to his chest.

He remembered. Ghost knew he remembered. He'd sat on the floor on that cold, grey morning and he'd said, "tell me what it was. Better than letting it eat at you." And Ghost had thought he couldn't, that saying it out loud would make it more. more real. more painful. more visceral against the callouses formed around his mind. And Price had just waited, patient and immovable, until the words had started coming.

"That's different," Price said.

"Is it."

Price didn't answer. His hands had stopped pressing quite so hard, his thumbs rubbed gently against his thighs. The line of his shoulders had shifted, more exhausted now than fighting.

Ghost reached over and put a hand on his forearm.

Price looked at it. Then looked up towards the ceiling.

His breath came out slow and unsteady, and Ghost watched his throat move as he swallowed again. His eyes had gone red at the rims.

"They had me in a room," Price said finally. Voice low enough Ghost has to hold his breath to hear. "And in the dream it's the same room, same light, same smell, but it goes differently." He stopped.

Ghost watched Price shake his head in that stubborn way, denying the tears and the pain and whatever else was threatening to tip over.

"In the dream I—I don't do what I did. I don't find another way." His jaw tightened. "And the dream is worse. Because the ones they wanted me to hurt, they're—they're your faces. In the dream. It's your's and Kyle and Nik and fuckin hell—"

Price rubbed his hand over his mouth and through his bread.

"I made the right call," he said, like he was arguing with someone and he was tired and the someone was winning. "I know I made the right call. But I still wake up and my arms are burning and I can still—" He cut himself off and exhaled hard through his nose. "I'm tired, Simon. I'm so bloody tired."

Ghost shifted, carefully, and moved back against the headboard. Next to Price, shoulders touching.

Price was still for a moment longer. Then something gave.

And he leaned into Ghost's shoulder. He didn't make a sound. But Ghost could feel the tension seeping out of him, finally running out of places to go except out.

Ghost didn't say anything for a while. He let Price's hand find his. Let John's head come to rest on his shoulder.

Eventually he whispered, "You told me once that surviving wasn't the same as being lucky. You remember that?"

Price made a hum of agreement.

"You meant it then," Ghost said. "It's still true now."

"You're using my own words against me."

"Maybe I have learned something from you, old man."

Another huff of a laugh, this time Ghost could feel his smile.

Price's head dropped back slightly against Ghost's shoulder.

"Sleep," Price said quietly.

"I am," Ghost said.

"Mhm."

Ghost stayed like that long after Price's own breathing evened out. He thought about Laswell, about Nik, about whether someone closer or someone warmer would have done this better.

Rarepair

Mugman x Bassie

No pressure 😭

this is why i love rarepairs. i never would have thought of this. look at them. they're perfect

bonus bassie i drew to get a feel for her before drawing the rest of them lol