𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 ( 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐗 𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐏 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 )

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 (𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓)

TRIGGER WARNING {TW} : THIS ONE-SHOT WILL CONTAIN MENTIONS OR SUGGESTIONS OF SUICIDE AND SELF HARM AS WELL AS GORE AND PUKE. PLEASE BE ADVISED!

AUTHORS NOTE : Uh soo....how better to crawl out of a long break and a stress hole than to project my feelings into these poor men? :) ANYWAYS! THIS IS AN AU I DECIDED TO HAVE ( FOR THE PLOT ) WHERE THE TWO ENDED UP LEAVING THE FORCE AND NOW LIVE TOGETHER LIKE LIL HUSBANDS!<3 Also, this is based just after the mw2 campaign technically?

[SOAP'S POV]

I stepped into the car, and waved to the driver to begin driving me home. Simon wasn't working today and has been home alone all day, I'm definitely looking forward to seeing him. Ever since I returned to the city I instantly grabbed at a shitty job as a bartender in a riverside pub. The money isn't the best but some of the people are interesting. It's enough to keep us going.

My hands found their way to my hair and brushed it back; my long overgrown style was due for a much needed cut. I can't be bothered. I watched out the window as we drove past, junkies and homeless men and women flooded the street. Unfortunate. Different lights flashed from outside the tinted windows of the uber which illuminated the sidewalks. I think the city is more peaceful at night, without the crime n' shit it's actually beautiful at times. My thoughts drifted back to Simon. I hope he's alright. He's still on edge, even after leaving he still believes everyone's after him. It took him two weeks to actually sleep in the apartment, and another for him to stop sleeping with the mask on. That switchblade still rests under his pillow every evening though. I can't help but feel bad for him. He's seen and experienced some shit that i'd never be able to comprehend. He's a strong man, stronger than I'll ever be. I hope to be like him someday. Maybe better.

The drive was short and I quickly made my way to the front door of our apartment building. I wonder what Simon's doing. Walking inside to the lobby, I nodded to the security guard, acting doorman Jeremy. "Goodnight John." He addressed me, smiling warmly. "Goodnight Jeremy, i'll see you tomorrow." I called the elevator and stood back. When it arrived, i quickly and routinely found the 9th floor button. I quite enjoy living here, the area is on the nicer side and the people aren't the most annoying. What can I say? I adore the city. The elevator chimed to alert me, reaching our destination. I stepped out and made my way down the short hallway to the apartment. I dug my hand into my back pocket, searching for my key and wrapped my fingers around it. I went to press the key into the lock where I found the door swing open effortlessly. Unlocked? Instinct kicked in and I was instantly on high alert, the hairs on the back of my neck stood tall and I sucked in a shallow breath.

"Simon?" I exclaimed, loud enough that he could've heard me, but not enough to startle any of the other tenants. Cautiously, I pressed a hand against the hardwood and swung it completely open. From where I stood, I viewed the entire apartment. The poor lighting made the interior appear pitch black, a fresh pool of light dragging in behind me as I made my way inside. "Simon?"  A little louder this time. Scanning the room, I noticed a stray bottle of bourbon on the floor, smashed to pieces as well as a few drops of blood. Shit. A thousand possibilities ran through my head, what if someone broke in? Is Simon hurt? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in as a way of grounding myself, if someone were to hurt Simon, i'm sure the other guy would look worse. The splotches of crimson lead me to the bathroom, and a small sigh of relief left my lips. It was an accident, right?

  I swiftly and confidently walked over to the door, turning the knob to find it locked. "Simon? Are you in there?" I announced again, hearing movement from the other room. "Simon?" Calling again, I knocked on the door. The other side fell silent. A pang in my gut told me that this didn't feel right, something was wrong, something had to be. I surveyed the room for something to bash down the lock, but to no avail. In a moment of panic, I slammed my shoulder into the door repeatedly. The lock became looser each time. A few more and I would be in. 

And just like that, the door swung open, the lock now lying on the floor. The first things I noticed was the continued blood trail on the floor, my eyes followed up to the sink, a mess of bandages 

I swear my heart stopped.

"Simon?" 

"Johnny..."

"Simon.."

"I'm sorry."

My eyes somehow shook in their sockets, a wave of shock, concern and sadness washing over me. Simon sat shirtless, weakly laid back in the bathtub, a bottle of bourbon in one hand and the small yet painfully familiar switchblade in the other. Messy lines soaked with blood riddled from his wrists to his shoulder blades. "Oh god." My lunch came back up, where I barely swallowed it back down. My mind fell foggy, dizziness and the days fatigue overtook me. "You weren't supposed to see this, John." He spoke, yet his voice fell soft and sincere rather than the gruff it normally carried. I felt an unfamiliar pang in my stomach. He called me John.. "You were never supposed to see me like this." Tears welled in my eyes, matching his. 

"Why'd you do this to yourself?" He was hurt by my words. I flashed him an apologetic look. I couldn't tell if I was concerned, upset, frightened,  angry or all of the above. My eyes travelled over his broken body. Pity. I pity him. "I'll call someone, you'll be alright baby, you'll be alright I promise." His face shifted at my words. He was unreadable. I couldn't make out the features of his face. The air hung heavy, weighing down on the two of us. I leant forward, and did the only thing I could think to do.

I pressed my lips against his, both an apology and a plea. As if to say 'I'm sorry for not being here' yet also 'please don't give up'. I can't handle him giving up. I thought everything was going so well. I broke away from the kiss to access his wounds. I felt sick once more when I witnessed the muscle layer of his body through one of the bloodied lacerations. Fucking hell Simon. What have you done to yourself my love?

I scramble to reach for my pockets, quickly finding my phone and dialling emergency services. The next few hours went by in a blur. The paramedics came, they took Simon away in a barely stable condition. They questioned me while I broke down on my living room floor. I sat by the phone for ages after they left. Waiting for that call. He'll be alright. Right?

-

Several hours passed before I got the call. "Good evening, am I speaking with John MacTavish?""How is he?" I whispered, voice broken from crying. "I'm calling on regards for Simon Riley, he's in a stable condition." I released a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. He's safe. What am I even saying? He was always going to be alright. He's Simon fucking Riley. The only danger to that man is himself. Though, at the moment that's my biggest fear. 

( 1325 WORDS )

A/N : I wrote this while listening to Britney Spears. Bite me. I'm not that good at angst anyways. Well, back to writing porn I guess. 🥱 I know the ending is rushed, angst is a bummer.