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Chapter 6 [IKYLHT]

~2.5k Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter [Coming Soon]

Brushing the last of the water droplets off your arm, you fling the remnants of your shower towards the sleeping giants you call your partners.

“Johnny, Simon.”

The men peak their eyes open, letting out a hum of acknowledgement.

“I’m done showering. Up up, let’s go.”

You move to slip on your boots, lacing up as Soap complains.

“C’mon, Bun. We’ve got plenty of time. Lay down for a bit.”

He reaches his arms out, making grabby hands and scooting towards the far edge of the bed.

Ghost pats the space in the middle, shifting over as best he can on the mattress. Their bodies dwarf the bed in comparison.

“We’re not gonna fit, Johnny.” You laugh out, hands measuring the gap between the men against the width of your hips.

“C’mon now, we’re gonna be late. If we miss the flight, Price is sticking us on a commercial flight. You know he won’t pay for upgrades.”

He looks towards the small space, resting his arms over his stomach and giving a small shrug with his signature smile.

“It’ll be fine, I promise.”

“No John! I’m not letting you win this one. We really can’t be late, let’s go.”

Shrugging once more, he sighs out with a semi-smug tone.

“Can’t force ya’ to rest. We’ll take ten more minutes, then.” He rolls over, nuzzling into Simon.

His statement takes you by surprise, but you don’t think much of it. He’s acting like a cocky little shit, as he tends to do (a blessing and a curse, really) so you give him the benefit of the doubt that he’d trying to persuade you into napping with them via the ‘calling chicken’ method.

For two soldiers, it was surprisingly effective. Not entirely sure how we still have all ten fingers.

Now normally you’d play along, let him win since it benefits the both of you anyways. But something was just off this morning. Maybe it was the lackluster sleep last night, maybe it was those feelings that carried over being a little more intense than you initially realized. Whatever it was, you didn’t feel like you could just let him win this one. For whatever reason your subconscious had rationalized, this was the hill you’d die on.

“Uhh, Johnny. It's breakfast. We always have breakfast together. Come on, don’t be lazy.” You force out a small laugh.

He nuzzles a little further into Simon.

“It’s just breakfast, Bun.”

You try to hold the bitterness back as you quietly scoff.

It is just breakfast.

“Okay. Yeah. Whatever. I’ll just go by myself.”

He hums.

Eyes landing on Simon, you watch his blank stare, both of you completely unmoving.

You wait for his response- verbal, physical, anything- and huff when you’re met with nothing.

Fine then.

Practically slamming the door as you stomp out of the room, you turn to walk towards the mess hall but stop no more than three feet into the hallway.

Looking over your shoulder, you wait.

A few seconds go by.

A few more go by.

Then fifteen.

Then you check the time on your phone, owlishly blink as the number changes.

With a small nod, your eyes shut as you feel the irritation puddle into something akin to grief.

It’s so much easier being angry, you realize, as you quietly make your way to the mess hall.

Maybe that’s what this is. This new way of being that had suddenly taken hold.

You’d been angry before- at your parents and their cruelty, at your teachers and their negligence, at the military recruiters, at Barrow, at Graves, at Shepherd, at yourself.

But this wasn’t anger anymore. This was something else entirely- something that smelled like Santiago’s cologne, something that tasted like his chapstick, something that looked like his empty casket.

It’s dramatic, and you realize that, but you can’t help but feel it.

Something was happening. Maybe it was Johnny’s close-call with Hassan, maybe it was your separation in Las Almas- whatever it was, you couldn’t help but feel cursed.

You’d sworn off having a partner, not to mention one in the military or even worse, on your team.

You’d already felt that pain once. Discovered what it was like to witness your spouse taken from you right before your eyes, all under your command. To watch your comrades, your friends carry his body for miles and miles as you tried to muffle your breakdown, only to leave all six of them in the desert.

I couldn’t carry them all.

Now you’re in the same situation, you’re losing him all over again and he’s not even dead.

He’s a hall’s length away, napping with a man you so eagerly roped in, a man that was so quick to embrace the two of you in a way you so desperately needed.

He could give the two of you the lives you’d always wanted, he could give you all he has to give.

He could give Johnny everything, something you simultaneously love and absolutely despise him for.

He understands Johnny. Understands him in every way you do and every way you never will.

You push around the food on your tray until it’s practically inedible, picturing the two men peacefully sleeping in your room as you force away the last realization your mind conjures up.

For the first time since Santiago’s death, you were sitting in the mess hall, alone.

Staring at the blinking cursor, you rack your brain on what to reply. The small group chat was mostly empty, save for a few grocery requests, as the three of you almost always communicated in-person or over comms.

Suds: where’d you go bunny? weren’t in the mess