nocturnesmoon - Tumblr blog

nocturnesmoon · 16 days

Text

Chapter 2: Arachnophobia

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 2: Arachnophobia

Wordcount: 6.2k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - Religious trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Angsty, Fluff, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: It's been so long since Simon last saw you. He already has a million things to worry about, and the reappearance of an old childhood friend being one of them, was not something he expected.

A/N: Finished editing sooner than expected, so thought I might aswell release it now. Also first time doing taglist, so let me know if it's not working. I think I did it right, but I don't know.

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

The crows are especially loud this time of day. Always placing themselves in the dead trees that lean in over the graves. They screech and scrawl at anyone who dares come into the cemetery. They act like unofficial guardians of the dead, as if any presence that moves in would disturb their eternal sleep.

Simon has never really minded them, but his tolerance only goes so far when they don't seem to quiet down. It's the same routine every night in the late banks of summer. The warm glow of the sun would put the entire cemetery in a different mood. This place doesn't look so dark and miserable when you take a look at it from a different angle.

The fence door creeks in tune with the crows. A few of them look towards Simon as he pushes himself inside from the little opening he made. He knows exactly where to look to catch a glance of you. It never fails to surprise him how you manage to come earlier than him, but there you are. Climbed high above to the roof of the little shed, and bathed in the light of the descending sun.

Your figure is set in a defensive stance as you screech right back at the crows. He can't help the smile that crawls unto his lips, subtle and small. It was something you always ended up doing when the crows got too loud. Not even Simon's relentless teasing could stop you.

Sometimes the crows would fly away, too annoyed from the disturbance you gave right back. Other times, they would stare back at you, and Simon would start to worry they would fly down and peck their beaks and claws at you.

Luckily, they never seem to go that far.

"One of these days you're going to fall and break your neck." As soon as his voice reaches your ears, you whip around with the brightest smile. You always had a way of smiling from ear to ear like an idiot.

"Si!" You yell out, dropping down to your knees and crawling to the edge to greet him. He would have chewed you out about it, but he knew your knees were already bruised as scarred from getting up there.

"I brought food," he lifts up the plastic bag to be in your line of view. It twists around, making the handle choke against his skin and the water in the flask slosh around. You let out an excited squeal, and by the sounds of your loud rumbling stomach, he made the right choice to bring extra.

Getting up on the roof proved harder than he expected. The ladder you usually used had been locked inside the shed. Some snitch must have seen the both of you up there, and told the graveyard keeper.

You had found some creative way to stack some boxes on top of each other. However, there was still a small way you'd have to pull up, and while he was working on getting stronger, he didn't succeed in masking the few grunts and groans on the way.

"I swear you're going to be an old man by the time you turn 18 with the way your knees are popping," you teased when he swung his legs up over and rolled in. You had gracefully taken the bag from him when he was halfway. You were quick to take out it's contents and lining it up.

"Says the one who's been acting 18 since they were 10," he retorted out of breath.

You merely scoffed in response, but he caught the small smile. "Whatever, old man" your hands smoothed over the sealed bowl. You looked like you were waiting for his permission. It never failed to amuse him. He had brought the food for only you and you alone. You never actually accepted it before you were sure that you were allowed to.

"Go on, I could hear your growling stomach from the gate" he motions for you to just get to it. You rip the lid off like an animal starved. He can practically see the way your mouth glistens, at the sight of the freshly cooked meal.

"Ugh, you're a lifesaver Si, thank you."

He watches as you fold your hands, drop your head low and close your eyes in silent prayer. You do it every time before a meal. Simon can't even pretend to begin to understand why, or what the point of it is, but he knows it's important to you.

He respects it and doesn't interrupt you with stupid questions, but there will always be the little itch in the back of his brain that reminds him, that the religion forced upon you is a big factor of your pain.

You always try to convince him that it's fine, that you want it to be like this. He knows you're lying. Despite how much your parents will glorify it for you, he won't forget that it's them who starves you, just for accidentally taking the lord's name in vain.

"Say thanks to your mom from me," you mumble out through a mouthful of food. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips at the sight. You looked so content with your favourite food right at your fingertips.

"I made it."

Your eyes shoot up to meet him, surprised. "Really? Damn, you're a much better cook than I am." There's a swell of pride in his chest, he wasn't going to admit to you how many times he had failed to make that dish good. He had waited for the right moment to show you, and it paid off in the end.

"Flowers are in full bloom," he mentions offhandedly. He looks down at the small corners of red, covering the grave areas. The graveyard keeper had planted them awhile ago, hoping to let them bloom and give the grey space a pop of colour. An added bonus that it would deter people from messing with the graves.

The old man didn't like the two of you very much, chasing you out whenever he caught you here, and trying to find out who you were so he could tell your parents. It quickly made Simon internalize the man’s schedule so you could keep the space to yourself. Not like anyone ever came and visited these old graves. Not in this part of the yard.

"Mhm I know," you speak with your mouth full of food, "I plucked a few from behind the shed." He raises a brow, his curious look almost making you chuckle before swallowing. He always wondered how you lost all your manners as soon as you left the house, though he had decided to let you be on the subject long ago.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

You scoff, gulping down almost half the water bottle he brought before answering. "No, I didn't, you have so little trust me. I was careful," you assure him. You nudge to the little plastic bag of six red spider lilies. Their strings crumbled in some places, from where you had been a little less careful.

He gently picks them up. The plastic bag rustles when he moves them around, putting them into the shape of a bouquet. "You know, they kind of remind me of you" he brings them closer to his face. He looks down into the bundle of red strings, and green stalks. The sweet floral fragrance is surprisingly overwhelming. He scrunches up his nose, before moving the flowers away.

"Really?"

"Of course, my little spider" he gives you a cheeky grin. He can't help the small surge of giddiness, that rises in his chest when he sees your annoyed face. He had given you the nickname with no explanation two years ago. You didn't like it one bit, but he never relented. Over time, it just became part of your friendship.

"Are you serious? Is that why you chose it?" You didn't sound impressed. Your annoyance definitely wasn't relieved, by the potentiality of the pretty flowers being the reason for your odd nickname.

He snorts, shaking his head quickly. "Nah, could be partly" he offers you the spider lilies ceremoniously, like one would offer their partner romantic red roses. "More likely, you remind me of spiders" you accept the flowers unsure, "cute, always there, hiding in the shadows."

You swat his arm, "Hey! I do not hide in the shadows like a creep!"

His laugh echoes out louder than he meant it to. The both of you looking around suspiciously, eyeing the place to see if the graveyard keeper should suddenly pop out of the shadows and chase you away with a pitchfork.

"Of course, not love, you have absolutely never done that once in your life."

He finds himself unable to look away from your eyes, when you chuckle along with him. The little creases of genuine joy in the corners, the way they light up with life. It's a look on you that he realizes he's missed. Much more than he thought.

Simon's room is drenched in darkness when he wakes up. It's only after he forcefully blinks that he's even sure he actually did open his eyes. His breathing turns quiet and strained, the images of his dream replaying on his mind like a sick mantra. It hadn't even been the usual night terrors that he got; this one was something old yet new.

His lungs felt too big for his ribcage. The warm hand resting atop his chest felt all the more restrictive. It wasn't his own. A quiet panic sets into his blood, one that's relieved just as quick when the man next to him stirs in his sleep.

Johnny had always been a restless sleeper. Even when he was deep asleep, he had a tendency to twitch around. The first few times they had fallen asleep together, Simon hadn't gotten much, but he still found it to be worth it. Being able to hold Johnny close in his arms, and make sure that the man got as much sleep as possible, did things to the protective voice in Simon's head.

He gently moves Johnny's hand off his chest. He had fallen asleep caressing his scars. A much more frequent occurrence now that Simon had finally gotten the courage to tell Johnny of the origins. They weren't new by any means, but it felt nice regardless.

He hadn't felt cared for like this since…. well, since you.

He sits up, trying to not disturb him. His hand wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, and grimaces at the feeling. He needs a shower. Why had he even dreamt of you now, after all this time? It didn't make sense to him. Sure, he occasionally had a thought about you, but you hadn't had any prevalence in his life for a long time.

The memory was distinct to him, but it bled together with countless others you had shared on the roof of that shed. This was the first time he could see the vibrancy of the blood-red fill his vision. Those damn flowers you loved so much. The ones he nicknamed you after, when you expressed how much you hated your own name.

He could feel the touch of your fingers, running down his arm, over the tattoo he had gotten in secret. A quiet rebellion towards his own family. The softness of your skin was stuck in his mind, gripping him like a vice and choking him through his uprising emotions.

It was so clear to him. Terrifying, really, he had felt so deeply about you. Now you were but dust in the wind for him.

"Simon…"

A much rougher hand than yours had been, gently rubs his arm, bringing his attention to its owner. Johnny stares up at him with drowsy eyes, the deep blues looking to him for an explanation.

"Nightmare?" he asks, his voice still laced with sleep.

Simon shakes his head. It wasn't a nightmare, was it? His emotions are disturbed, for sure, but his nightmares are violent. They leave him rattled and shaken, barely allowing oxygen into his lungs. They have him fighting back against any physical force, and remind him of his worst memories. Typically, it didn't include scenic graveyards, beloved childhood friends and red spider lilies in full bloom.

"Then why are ye cryin'?"

Simon's eyes widen. His hand come up to touch the tears, wiping them away in a quick motion. Yeah, why the hell was he even crying. It wasn't something to cry over, it was simply the past. It wasn't even something he regretted. It was a pleasant memory; one he wishes he could go back to.

Johnny's hand traces up his muscle, until he is fully sat up himself. His lips come into contact with Simon's cheek, giving him a soft kiss.

"Ye wanna talk about it?" Johnny looks like he's ready to pass out any second. He always had that interesting ability to become sleepy anytime he's around Simon alone. Managing to become relaxed enough to let down his defences.

"No…" Simon let's out a deep grumbled sigh. He moves his head to the side, meeting Johnny's concerned gaze. He dips down to place a kiss to his lips, just as soft. "Go back to sleep…you can still catch a few hours," he says in a whisper.

They both had another day of hard work ahead of them. It wouldn't be any use if Simon was the reason the both of them were lacking energy. Their current case was a difficult one. The entire taskforce was more used to short clear-cut missions, one after the other they cleared them with minimal struggle. All they've done the last few weeks has been intel gathering, and a few fruitless ops to various places in the world.

It was, in short, frustrating. The group of people they were looking for were incredibly good at keeping themselves in the shadows. Trying to catch them has been like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

They've been down two men as well. Ever since, Price and Gaz left to retrieve extra help, so to speak. He doesn't see how any more help will do anything for them, the people they've already consulted were dead ends. Talented absolutely, he even learnt a new thing from one of them, but not what they needed.

The stress of the job itself was taking its toll on his brain, but he couldn't ever imagine himself doing anything else. Not when he's got this far already. People like himself aren't suited for a quieter life, somewhere else doing something that's a lot more mundane. At least he can't complain about having a boring day to day.

"Yer thoughts are loud."

Simon let's out a heavy sigh. It's too late for this, or early rather. He shuffles under the sheets, brings Johnny with him as he morphs his own body to his. Johnny instinctively wraps his arms around him, squishing themselves close as they can get. The heat of the room ignored.

"Sleep…" he mumbles and closes his eyes, "We can talk later."

A sharp knock pulls Simon away from his report. His eyes narrowing at the door as it opens, taking notice of the creek. The hinges have needed changing for a few years now. No one ever got around to it.

"Got yer lunch," Johnny steps into the low lighted office. Always with that tone of optimism that Simon can never really grasp.

"Jesus, ah don't understand how ye can see anythin' in 'ere." Johnny pushes the door closed, and makes his way over to Simon's desk. He puts down a plate of whatever he could find (that Simon would like) from what they're serving today. A task that could prove challenging.

Johnny squints in the low light, even the lamp Simon keeps on his desk doesn't do much for the total lighting in the room.

He prefers it this way though, it goes easy on his eyes, and he doesn't have to listen to the incessant buzzing from the lights that apparently only he can hear.

The first time Johnny questioned him on his choice, Johnny had called him a vampire in response. In retaliation, he had woken the man up in the middle of the night, and scared the shit out of him.

He was not questioned again.

"Got yer favourite," the Scot scoots an extra chair over to his desk. He tried to sound as upbeat as he could. The last while had taken a visible toll on everyone in the taskforce, and between the two of them, Johnny wanted to remain positive for them both. Simon sure as hell wasn't going to.

Simon let's out a grumbling noise in response. "Oh, quit that," Johnny waves his hand between the report and his face, "ah know for a fact, that ye barely ate anythin' this mornin'. What's the matter with ye."

The quiet stretches between them. He ignores the offended sputters, when he removes Johnny's hand from his view. He was right though, unfortunately, Simon hadn't had much of an appetite ever since he failed to go back to sleep. There was something about the dream he had, it wouldn't leave his mind.

No matter how much he tried to convince himself it was nothing, the reminder of the past felt like a storm in his body. It swirled old emotions back to the top, things he never got over and had instead repressed the hell out of.

He tried to not make a habit of dwelling on things he couldn't change. Yet now he finds himself wondering what could have been different if he chose other actions, than what he did all those years ago.

What if he hadn't given up on reaching out. What if he had tried to find you. What if he still knew you.

What if, what if, what if.

He bit back on a groan. Normally it was the annoying (Loveable) Scotsman occupying his thoughts, not childhood crushes.

For a time, he had tried finding you again, years later when it would already be too late. What he found was abnormally little, and nothing worthy of note. All he could boil it down to was that you had your own life now, somewhere else, far away from him.

"Simon," Johnny snapped his fingers, "Ye don't get to ignore me, talk to me." Still, he remains quiet, only gracing the man with his supposed undivided attention at his request. Whatever Johnny wanted from him would be better than fantasizing about a past he couldn't return to. It wasn't like him.

"Jus' stressed."

"Aye…sure…just the stress," Johnny mocks him light-heartedly, his mouth tugging in the corners. "C'mon Si, ah know what ye're like when ye're stressed…this is different…is it the supposed non nightmare ye had?" He's adamant on not letting the morning go.

Simon had been more quiet than normal, hastily going on with his day in an attempt at finding something to distract him. He had failed miserably in his pursuit, instead letting himself drown in the unanswerable question. What exactly was the goal of The Divine Principle.

"It wasn't a nightmare," he stresses.

"Didn't say it was."

Simon puts down the pen he had been writing with. The small joints in his fingers aching at the release. The pen was the only thing that had been at his disposal for several hours, which allowed him to fidget. Anything else left him restless, only the bouncing of his own leg did it justice, but even that got tiresome after a long time of it.

"I dreamt up memories." He looks away from his partner's unwavering attention. He had told several things from his past already. Old ghost stories that's better left dead and buried under the rubble of his past self.

He allowed Johnny in years ago, opened up his stone turned heart, and let him hold it. He gave him the ability to squeeze the life out of it, drain it of whatever feeling it still had left.

Instead, Johnny let it prosper in his care. Showing the scars of his own, and gaining mutual love and understanding.

There were still things he didn't know. Wounds that never really turned into scars were still left in the darkness. Scabs being picked at every few years or so, reminding him of the hurt he never quite tended to.

"Yer family?"

"An old friend."

"Childhood friend? Not somethin' ye've ever mentioned before," Johnny says in an intrigued tone. He pushes the plate of food In front of Simon's vision to remind him. It doesn't forward his eating. He barely even looks at it, instead remaining his fixed gaze on John.

"And I don't intend to," he doesn't react to the disproving look he gets, "at least not yet."

"Aye…Ah not gonna force ye to Si…but it's clearly botherin' ye." Johnny let's out a pleased sound when Simon finally rolls up the bottom of his mask above his nose, and pick up the fork to stab at his food.

He takes a big bite before he continues. It gives him enough time to gather his own thoughts. They still spiral within his skull, feelings of want and longing buzzing in his bones. "I jus' didn't expect it," he whispers, "been years since I’ve had a dream from the past that wasn't riddled with…unease."

It's not a generous term. It doesn't quite grasp the full complexity of it, but he'd rather suffer beneath a blade once again before he admits it out in the open that they terrify him.

Nightmares are frequent, things from the operations he goes through here. Night terrors have become a much smaller occurrence for him, his therapy sessions helping more than he thought they would, and extra support from Johnny had done wonders.

He didn't know what to make of it, but Price's words from years ago of how far you could go with a solid support system, were apparently true. He wasn't planning on admitting that to the man anytime soon, however.

Johnny stares in silence, waiting for him to continue, but the matter is dropped when he shakes his head no. Johnny let's out a deep sigh, and with a soft shake of his head, he begins eating his own brought lunch. "Fine, have it yer way" he mumbles while he chews, "Captain and Gaz should be coming in a few hours."

"I would've thought you'd show more excitement over new people," Simon speaks after swallowing his mouthful of food. He didn't want to go back to the subject of his dream, instead letting it simmer in the back of his head.

"Ah would, but I'm too busy worrying about yer ass." Johnny grins, and though he means it, Simon can see the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. He had always been one for the newcomers, the few people that had helped them on the cult case so far had been on the questionably delightful receiving end of Johnny's flirtatious manner.

"You worry too much."

"Funny, ah should be the one saying that," that earns Johnny a look of annoyance. One he can only chuckle at. No matter how much Johnny would humour it, he was right, even if Simon didn't want him to be.

He always found himself something to worry about, or so he's told from everyone around him. One thing was for Price to say it, the hypocritical bastard. Another was for Johnny to mention it, it got him thinking, but it was a complete third thing when even Kyle would give his two cents of concern.

He was labelled a worrier, through and through. Not something he took on with particular pride, but it kept them safe. It made him aware of the dangers, all of them, and with the right precautions he could fight them before they took something precious of his.

It's the unknown that's the hardest to compete with. He knew nothing about the upcoming arrival, he couldn't prepare his proper defences, or what he needed. His brain still had to constantly remind him that the person coming wasn't a threat to his peace. They were coming to help. That was all.

One thing Simon can be thankful for, is that the base doesn't feel it when it's at it's busiest. The quiet can still reap the noise in the halls, and outside the wind is reduced to a slow breeze.

There's a chill in the air, the leaves of autumn already starting to fall from the dedicated few trees left on base. The colour on them had kept something pretty to look at around, soon they would bare and boring again. Sometimes the snow would make up for it, if there was enough of it.

He'd been waiting out here a tad too long. Not even Johnny would join him before the plane got a bit closer. The anxious part of him wouldn't allow him to be late. An ideal he'd always held to, rather be too early than too late.

It keeps him within of that carefully crafted control.

A control that very quickly starts to dwindle when the doors open.

A part of him finds himself relieved when he sees Price and Garrick come out of the plane unscathed and in the same state as they went. He could try to deny it to himself all he wanted, but he had grown to care about the taskforce as a whole, not just Johnny.

That part of it all was fine, a variable he knew.

The person walking languidly behind them, is what sets him out of his carefully calculated control.

It trails down his back like claws of ice, bringing the warmth of his blood into an ever long cold. His limbs cease, his already rigid stance becomes like stone. The person that walks towards him, is not a person he knows any more, nor is it a person he ever expected to see again. Because that person is no longer the little kid, he would watch scrape their knees climbing the trees, or the little kid he would hold close when they broke under pressure.

The little kid was now a grown adult.

And in tow behind Price with a nervous look.

You look different.

He couldn't even be sure that it was truly that little kid, sure they carried your features, more mature and older, a new amount of scars and weariness you should never bear. It's been so long, he can almost convince himself that he's hallucinating. That his own sleep deprivation is finally catching up to him, and forcing him to make correlations based upon his own wishes.

"Boys, it's good to see you" Price voice thrums out. The smile playing on his lips tells Simon more things than he likes. The eye-contact they're making only makes the nausea in his stomach worse. If only throwing up would fix the problem standing in front of him, half obscured by Gaz.

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting out here too long," Price voice almost echoes, "I want to introduce you to someone."

The tense air doesn't alleviate, and when your name leaves the captains lips, Simon knows that he is completely and utterly fucked.

"Ye know them, don't ye?"

Johnny's voice startles him out of his thoughts, bringing him back up from the rabbit hole he ventured down. He's been standing here for who knows how long, staring out at the training recruits doing their drills for the evening, or at least that is his cover. Truly he doesn't see anyone of them, he looks past the moving crowd, his eyes boring into your figure on the other side.

He answers Johnny with a simple grunt. He still can't quite believe it himself, that it really is you, that you're alive and here. It makes him angry to even think about, you being here. You're not supposed to be here at all, you were supposed to be far away from the likes of the military.

You weren't supposed to look like you did, flimsy and cautious reactions to everything that moved, new scars he knew nothing about adorned your once soft skin and made it rough, your eyes were no longer sweet and innocent, they had seen things he had as well.

A future he had blissfully believed you wouldn't have to share with him.

His nausea hasn't left since you arrived hours ago.

"Not on good terms, then?" Whatever Johnny thought of you, he was having a mighty good time with this. Since you'd uttered your first words, Johnny had been smitten with you. A quality to impress that you still seemed to possess, despite your differences.

Simon had worried that Johnny would have scared you away with his overwhelming form of an introduction. His presence commanded space, something Simon counted on when he wanted to retract into the shadows of a room and go unnoticed. But on you and your tense muscles, you looked more like a frightened rabbit ready to sprint back into the plane.

You didn't.

No, you held yourself in place, did the courteous thing and introduced yourself as properly as you could.

There hadn't been a whole lot of time for reunions. Simon didn't even know whether you knew it was him under the skull mask. He hadn't greeted you, too afraid of his own reaction to you, and he had likely looked like a rude, brutish soldier that wanted nothing to do with you.

He wanted to adhere to that, keep up the act, and keep hoping you wouldn't see through him and his longing glances.

"I think they're quite charming," Johnny says with a hint of suggestion, "pretty thing."

"Keep it in your pants, MacTavish."

Across the yard, he sees you light a cigarette. You bring it to your lips and take a puff, rolling your shoulders back to release tension. It's a nasty habit, one you shouldn't indulge in. You should've stayed away from it, just like he told you all those years ago.

His hand twitches when you take another puff, and the pack of cigarettes burn against his thigh where they rest in his pocket.

"I thought ye liked to take said pants off-" he lets out a scoff when Simon moves past him, not allowing him to finish.

He crosses halfway through before the small voice in him quivers and changes his mind. He trails to the side, slowly making his way towards you by staying close to the raised wall. You don't look towards him, but with the way you had anxiously assessed every corner of every area you went, you likely knew exactly where he was and what he was doing.

Nonetheless, he found himself standing with a distance to you, using the excuse that it was a dedicated smoking area, to actually allow himself this close. It feels out of place for him to be this cautious of his own movements. Normally his moves were calculated, a bit heavy and tense, sneaky, when need be, but not the nervous caution he embodies now.

He fishes out his own pack of cigarettes, narrowing his vision on it while he lights it to make sure he doesn't let himself trail towards you. He needs to be strategic about this, he couldn't just assume you knew who he was. You might not even remember him.

"I was starting to wonder whether you were going to come say hello, or if you were going to keep hiding in the shadows, and staring like a creep."

The first drag comes into his lungs wrong. He seals his lips and lets the cough reside in his chest. A mistake to do, since you seem to notice anyway. Your voice isn't what he would think. Though, he starts to realize he doesn't actually remember what you used to sound like in his memories, but it wasn't this.

"Wasn't staring," he defends.

"Sure, and I’m royalty."

At least you hadn't lost your love for sarcasm.

He takes a better drag of his cigarette, lets the nicotine into his body like he needed it to breathe. He really should kick the habit, set an example. If not for you, then for Johnny. He didn't quite think you'd care so much for his 'example' any more.

"No reintroduction?"

"So, you know then," he turns his head to look at you. He meets your eyes, already staring at him, looking him over like he's some fascinating creature you've never seen before. Yet he feels like you're staring right through him at the same time.

There's something haunted about your appearance and stance.

"Of course I know, Simon, you really think I would've come here if I didn't get all the information."

Simon doesn't know what to think. You're not even supposed to be here in his mind. "Been a long time," he comments idly, instead of indulging your rhetorical question. How many years had it been since you parted? Since you stopped answering and turned away? He can't remember.

"It has," you bring your own cigarette to your lips to take a drag, the silence kills, "you've come far."

"I thought you were too stubborn to join up." He watches on as you look away. Is that a hint of shame he sees? He's not going to pretend to know what's going on in your head anymore.

"People change," is all the answer you seem to muster up and give him, "and I’m not currently enlisted."

His jaw twitches behind the mask, it clamps to his face uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too scratchy against his skin.

People change.

He knew that, he wasn't delusional about it. It just didn't feel right for you to change so drastically. He had always imagined that you'd be living alone by now, in a city far away from the likes of him, maybe even a different country. You'd have bought that flat or house you always fantasized about, finally making it yours. You'd have a beloved pet or two, and a husband or wife to keep your bed warm.

He lets out a grunt in response, taking another shot at filling his lungs with smoke. "Well, you're not the only thing that's changed over the years," he doesn't know what point he's trying to make, yet he tries nonetheless.

"Clearly." He no longer likes the tone of voice you've taken on.

You turn yourself to him fully this time. He has no idea what's going through your head. There's mystique in your eyes, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for him to realize you aren't staring at him, but his mask.

"Out of all the motifs, you could've chosen…" you sound almost disappointed in him. He doesn't understand why it stings. You look down at his skeletal gloves with the same expression. He's never been one to be embarrassed, or self-conscious about his persona. You've only been back in his life for a few hours, and the old standard he held for you long ago comes back like it wasn't ever gone.

He can't even remember caring that much about your opinion of him. Maybe it's because back then you adored everything about him. Now your eyes don't hold the warmth he's come to miss.

"You got a problem?" His jaw tenses behind his mask. He regrets his tone of voice the instant he sees the narrow squint of your eyes, the distaste never quite leaving your face.

"You know that I do." He does. He doesn't try to deny it. Back when you were kids, he knew you better than even your own parents did, your family or anyone else you would surround yourself with.

"If there's a conflict of interest-"

"Always so prone to the extreme," you cut him off. A callback he doesn't appreciate as much as he once would. "Good to see not everything is changed," none of your words are said with honesty nor the friendliness he could've expected from you.

There's deceit, passive aggressiveness, a hostile tone you've never bourn before. You've never had to Infront of him before. It's a foolish realization to only have now. It's the only constant he could be sure of the first time he saw you again, in all these years. You weren't going to be the same, you have changed, and so has he.

To go back to such a time isn't a possibility. It rests within either of your memories, buried beneath layers of stone and ice. The feelings you once had couldn't be expected to be upheld. It was unfair of him to think such a way.

He doesn't recognize his own voice when he softly calls your name. His3 hand moves forward about to graze at your arm, but before he can even come near, you back away. It's a rejection that cuts deep, and one he wishes he actually could blame you for. Alas he can't.

"No," you say steadfast "don't do that. It won't end well…for either of us."

He doesn't nod, doesn't shake his head. No verbal response is offered, only a mere silent movement, the retraction of his own hand to give you the space you have asked for. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it anymore than he liked the way you became a ghost all those years ago.

You're finally within reach of his grasp, and you've never felt further away.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz

#noctmoon fics #The Divine Violence #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap #ghoap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #soap x reader x ghost

47 notes · View notes