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1.
He was at the airport, a civilian one at that too, stressing around inside a bookshop in the duty free for something. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, something to occupy his mind for the mindless hours he had to spend in the air travelling commercially. Stuck between his fellow bone tired soldiers and civilians who probably would look at them all weird.
One of his squad mates Jack was checking out a thriller novel, backpack hanging off one shoulder, a pinch in his eyebrows Soap knew was from him being picky. Their whole unit didn’t have time to properly pack for the deployment, all ushered out of theirs bunks in the middle of the night, piled onto transport and stationed somewhere along the border to Mexico in the states. A massive lead on a weapons smuggler or something, the American military needing assistance to patrol the border while they got all the fun stuff of actually following the intel. But it was done, two long months of just walking, standing and a bit more walking in full gear and tired squinting eyes trying to make out the vague shapes in the dark bushes on the night patrol – that Soap for some odd reason always got, he really gotta work on his poker face.
Soap wasn’t a big reader, could barely get through the few books that had piqued his interest over the years, but he didn’t have anything else. His phone on 10%, headset in his barracks room inside his locker back in England, his journal filled to the brim with no room to spare since deploying to the states. So he half heartedly wandered the isles, not sure what to look for.
Nearly pathetically looking over the flashy titles and vibrant colours. Wandering aimlessly around trying to figure out what to even read, not having the proper time to really think about the few books he had read in the past decade of his life. Defenceless against the amount of books stacked up on high shelves.
He checked the fantasy section, some titles flashing before him but the thought of getting into a completely new world threw him off. Trying to figure out pronunciation or odd words of a world composed by some author who could see it so clearly and Soap was not that type of reader. He checked out the thriller jack had now put down in favour for some other book, but his lips curled downwards and understood why Jack had put it down. Some pretentious sob story that took itself too seriously laced in with a macho main character, had it been a female main character would be called a Mary Sue. He even skimmed the back of some self biographies from celebrities he couldn’t give two shits about, a vying last ditch effort to find something.
“Soap,” Jack called out from the register, tapping at his clock strapped around his wrist. Eyebrows raised and eyes flicking from him toward the general direction of their gate, “gate closing in five!”
That didn’t help, Soap looked around desperately, feeling tension in his shoulders as he looked around for a book to just read and suck him in. Take him away of the mindless hours he would have to spend in the air crammed into a too small plane seat for his large frame.
That’s when he saw it.
A little nondescript stand with books wrapped in brown paper. A small sign over it that read out “blind date with a book”. Soap cringed but stepped up and skimmed the few words that had been written with a marker on the brown paper, some vague tags and descriptions to get a feeling for what was hiding underneath the paper. It just about piqued his interest, taking away the burden of actually having to choose.
One caught his eye, with the time ticking he just grabbed it, threw it on the counter at the register and bolted out with Jack towards their now closing gate. Barely managing to register their tickets at the gate, apologising to the sour looking flight attendant and mock saluting their unit leader who looked on the wrong side of furious.
The plane was packed, a baby already wailing some rows down from Soap, jack was already half passed out in the seat to the right of him. And Soap sighed, tried to fit comfortably in the tight seat, rearranging his legs and trying not to bump knees with the lady side eyeing him from his left. Nearly cursing his genes for giving him those extra good centimetres while trying to sit comfortably.
In between the safety demonstration and the first rounds of drinks and snacks, the light snores of Jack snuggling into the wall with the window, Soap had nearly forgotten about the whole book. On the verge of falling asleep with his head tipped back, military training kicking in as he felt his body relax. Then they hit light turbulence, the baby who had settled after getting in the air started wailing again and Soap – now wide eyed – scrubbed a hand over his face sighing deeply.
It was going to be a long flight back to Europe.
The paper crinkled when he dragged it out from where he had stuffed it into his backpack, already ripped in the corners and scuffed from the harsh treatment when he ran to the gate earlier. He skimmed over the tags again, the first one being the one that caught his eye ‘military romance’, the rest of the tags wasn’t too important as he ripped the paper. Sue him for latching onto it, maybe it was so hilarious that he could get through at least half the flight not bored out of his mind.
The ripped brown paper revealed a smooth black cover, a tunnel ending in a white circle with a soldier carrying another one over his shoulders, the title in plain white letters ‘Solider heart’. Soap flipped it, finding the reviews and a simple summary on the back. The author being anonymous, only the initials of what most likely already was pseudo name, ‘RS’. It held many awards Soap noticed, even called internationally best selling romance novel of it genre, which raised some eyebrows.
It was the obvious little sticker in the corner that got Soap to double take. There in the corner on the back under a six dice review from the New York Times, a big contrast to the black and white colour scheme. A little rainbow sticker, with the small text ‘LGBT award’ next to it. Soap peaked over towards jack who still was passed out.
It wasn’t that he was ashamed per se, he was proud of who he loved, it was just that the military wasn’t the friendliest of places. Soap had understood that from basic that he had to be careful of who he tells. So, with shame in his gut he peels off the sticker, opens the title page and stuck the curled sticker into the book out of sight, sad eyes eyeing it on the white paper.
Again he tried to rearrange his limbs to a comfortable position, gets a huff from the lady and ducks his head into the book. He skimmed the first pages, the chapter lists and title pages, only stopping at the small text before the book starts.
‘Dedicated to all the soldiers struggling with sexuality.’
Soap smiled, felt his heart beat thump in his chest as he began to read.
What had started as the longest flights of his life, turned out to be the shortest. Soldier heart was an intense book, a wrecking romance that captured Soap in a way a book never has. He gripped the pages, bending them just to hang onto the words a little better. The romance in there felt nearly real, like he was reading something happening, the military part of it singing to him because he had experienced nearly the exact same things.
The locker rooms, the homoeroticism of being in the military, the sparring, the bodily connection you get – the deep friendships. Soap clung to the beautifully written words, feeling sorrow when the main character falls in love with another solider on his task force. Knowing the shame and the guilt for thinking about a brother in arms that way, but in the end giving up to it, leaping from a tall building into a void of what Soap could only describe as a mess of feelings. Unfurling something beautiful and raw, something Soap had longed to experience himself.
He barely glances up from the pages as they land and change flights, can’t stand to put down the book for even just a moment as they board their next flight. Jack is teasing him, another baby is wailing loudly, but he doesn’t even bother to care. Too sucked into the written world of these two soldiers, tackling on a mission that – for plot reasons probably – went sideways to Sunday while dealing with the thing between them.
Soap sits by the window as the sun goes down, being that person who flicks on the little reading light above him. Getting a grunt from jack and different lady at the end of their row side eyeing him hard.
Even when they return to their barracks back on base he can’t put it properly down, how he barely takes the time to brush his teeth and pulls off most of his clothes and dive into his bunk bed underneath Jack. His light is on as he reads just a little longer until another bunkmate in the bunk beside him grumbles about the light, “aye,” he waves him off, “I’m just gonna read through this chapter!”
He ends up reading the remaining five. Tears streaming down his face as he nears the end, the bittersweet ending making his hands tremble with emotion.
He has to hide in the communal bathroom to finish it, at 0500 in the morning, sitting on the toilet lid with barely contained sobs inside the little stall. The words just making him ache, the ending filling a spot in his heart that he didn’t even know he had. How it suddenly felt to not be alone. To word out his feelings, to know the author had felt the same.
Other soldiers – even the author – struggle with their sexuality within the military. Not that Soap struggles, but he doesn’t show it, doesn’t parade around and openly talk about it. He switches the pronouns to she and her whenever he talks about hookups he had on leave with the others, he talks about a future with a wife and potential kids. He gets a pit in his stomach whenever he gets close to one of his squad mates and he wants to just tell them, lift the weight of his own shoulders, but too afraid for the different treatment. The crushes he knows will never be anything more outside the confines of his own mind. The mixed signals he sometimes get because the military makes friendship blur the lines of what is platonic closeness or romantic intimacy.
So, the book gives him a safe space. He dog ears it, cracks the spine, annotates and scribble in the margins, shoves post it notes and draw out maps and rooms to visualise the whole thing. He draws the soldiers faces and hides them folded up in between the pages, he draws kisses and the guns and rifles they use. Makes small strips of comics of sections he loves and high lights small things he just adores.
He rereads it, takes it with him on every deployment, wrap it up in plastic to preserve the cover, tapes the pages and the millions of pieces he has added to it together. It’s his most valuable book after the journal. Tucked in between his bags, rainbow stickers proudly sticking to the pages inside it accompanied with his own little confessions beside it.
If Soap ever met this RS, he would need to tackle the man in a big hug, because whenever he feels bad. The gloomy thoughts enter his head, or missions get boring, he opens Solider heart, wrapping himself into the safety blanket it creates around him.
2.
Gaz is peering through the many isles of books, while Soap is just walking behind him. He’s not looking for anything particular, he has his phone and probably a million levels to play of Gardenscapes for the next couple of weeks out on training exercises in the middle of nowhere in what it’s name country.
Gaz on the other hand, wanted a new read. Something to tide him over for the next weeks they had to sit in tents and eat bland field meals, mindlessly play out scenarios and go on patrol like they were rookies fresh out of basic. “Jesus,” Gaz cringes as they hit up the romance section, Soap peering over his shoulder as Gaz holds a romance book that seems more predatory than actual romance, “who wanna read this?”
“A lot of men,” Soap huffs and points to the little award the book had been given, a five dice review from a men’s magazine. Making both of them huff out a tense chuckle.
Gaz throws it carelessly back onto the shelf again, humming and perusing the rest of the section without any luck. That’s when he spots it, all the way at the edge of the shelf, Soldier Heart. Hardcover and soft cover editions next to each other. Proudly on display with a small sticker on the wooden shelf reading ‘best selling’ – like it should, Soap thinks absentmindedly.
“Isn’t this what you’ve been reading?” Gaz asks, gently dragging it out from its confines, the title shining against the black cover, the initials RS staring down Soap as he suddenly internally panics. Soap doesn’t think Gaz is going to react badly, but the fear is still there as he hums an affirmative and Gaz flips the book. That LGBT sticker still sitting in the same place Soap had peeled off so long ago, shining so obnoxiously bright against the blackness it nearly makes him cringe, “is it good?”
Soap gawk, frozen solid as he tries to gauge one of his best mates reactions. “Uh,” he starts, getting Gaz to peer back at him with a confused look. Gaz had seen the book, seen how he had loved it so much, the annotations and the many papers Soap had taped into it – hell Gaz had even seen the few sketches Soap dared to draw out in the open.
“I’m not gonna judge if this is some erotic military porn thing,” Gaz teases, landing a bit flat as he punches Soap’s shoulder lightly. But Soap felt like he was panicking, he couldn’t just say it was bad when Gaz knew he loved it, but he also couldn’t just let him read it and understand why he loved it.
“Well,” he rubs his arms, looks away and peer down at the empty store, except for the bookstore lady who had shuffled into the back room when they entered.
“John?”
And Soap turns again, meeting Gaz’s gaze head on, feeling pathetic for being so scared of this, he shouldn’t, he rarely find this so fear inducing because he made his peace with it a long time ago. He hadn’t been this scared of coming out since coming out to his very catholic grandparents at the sweet age of 16, and that had miraculously gone well. So he just stutters something incoherent, feeling lost for words as Gaz places the book back and turns bodily towards him. Gentle eyes and a small smile.
“If this is about the sticker on the back,” he starts, low voice as to not yell it out for everyone – that one lady – to hear, “I don’t care about that, if that’s what you are.”
The relief is instantaneous, Soap’s shoulders slump and he nods, “aye.”
“You’re still you,” Gaz smiles broaden, big pearly white teeth and Soaps smiles back gently, “and I still beat your scores in everything so…”
Soap scoffs, shoves Gaz with a barked laugh, “fuck off, homophobe,” he teases, feeling so much lighter as gaz picks up the book again. The tenseness and hidden weight on his shoulders lifting off and eases away to that pure relief.
“So, it’s good?”
“Aye,” he says fondly, dragging out the hardcover version with a smile, looking at the newer version and nice plain cover art, “I bet 100 quid yer gonna cry Gaz.”
“100?” gaz eyes sparkles, his smile turning wicked, “oh you’re on, I have never cried of a book before, easy fuckin’ money mate!”
Soap shook his head, dragged his best friend towards the register where the lady now stood with a hidden smile, scanned their books and put two awfully nice bookmarks into their bags and sent them on their way back to base.
A couple of weeks later, while Soap was shovelling down food at a small watchpoint at the darkest of hours at night, sitting in the red light of his head torch, alone as the other soldier who was on rotation with him had just left for a patrol of the perimeter of their little base camp. He heard the telltale shuffle of gravel under boots. He turned and saw Gaz walk over, drag a little ammo crate to where Soap sat and put his head in his hands and sighed loudly.
Soap was about to question it when the gaz shuffled inside his pocket, dragged out a 100 note and let it dangle between them with the confession of a lost bet. Soap smirked, easily taking the money with a hidden glee, “so,” he started pocketing the money and shuffling around, letting the rifle lean against his other thigh as he let his unoccupied hand land between Gaz’s shoulder blades, “what do ya think?”
“Fuckin’ devastating,” gaz finally let his hands fall into his lap, looking back at Soap who now noticed the dry tear streaks, the camo greasepaint trailing after in a downstroke pattern across Gaz’s dark skin. Green and black paint mixing and washing off, rubbed away some place leaving horizontal streaks across Gaz’s cheekbones. “Is that,” he started, leaning back into the touch Soap so happily gave, “is that how you feel?”
It was an innocent question, Soldier heart had a wreckingly beautiful love story, but it also tackled being gay inside the military – special forces to be exact. It was haunting how Soap could see himself in the written word of this RS – how much it resonated with him. He shrugged, letting his hand fall away with a pat and continued with his MRE that was now at a mediocre temperature, “sometimes,” he started slow and unsure, not so well spoken as RS’s beautiful writing and prose. “In the beginning it was hard, coming to terms with hiding again,” Soap chewed on a cracker, letting the silence stretch a bit between them, here alone away from base camp and nosy ears, “I have accepted it more now, it's easier with a unit like this where people are just close, ya know? Not so much judgment here than other places I’ve been.”
Gaz hummed, nodding and turning over the words as they stared out into the black night of the desert stretching out in front of them.
“What this RS really gets,” Soap says with a sort of sadness, “is that loneliness that comes with it, I cannae talk about all the lads I like, or who I’ve hooked up with on leave, or what my future might look like,” he gestured with the plastic fork in his hand, towards the vast void stretching in front of them, “I cannae talk about it, and that makes me, not exactly lonely, but alone. I dinnae want to be treated differently, or be looked at differently just because I’m gay. I think that is what I’m most scared off, and what RS manage to capture so well.”
“I think I get it,” gaz said, bumping his shoulder into his with a fond looking smile, “and if it helps, I’ll never look at you differently because your gay, just so you know.”
“Thank you Gaz,” and it made his heart flutter and his chest ache, smiling goofily in that red light in the middle of nowhere.
“And you’re not alone,” Gaz eventually said, “I may not be gay but I’m not, like opposed to look at a man…”
Soap barked out a laugh, feeling freer than ever before and leaning back, seeing a red light bob out in the desert coming closer, ending his small little break with Gaz by his side.
3.
Medical leave was a bitch, Soap thought eloquently, but sometimes it was nice too – just a tiny bit on some small occasions. The library was packed, people mingling and talking, queueing up to meet an author who had their book signing here. Loud chatter and laughs echoing in the usually quiet room.
Emma, his sister, had dragged him off his couch in his little flat to this thing. Originally he had grumbled all the way here, crossing his arms as much as he could with the cast covering his left hand, pouting in that MacTavish way that made Emma just scoff at him. He was just about to email his captain – for the third time since med leave started – that he could return to base. His plans though, thoroughly spoiled by Emma barging in with a big grin and dangling her car keys in front of his face. She loved the author, a fantasy writer or something that Soap wasn’t too interested in. But he indulged her, let himself get some fresh air and walk among actual people while mulling about how to word that email.
It was three more weeks of medical leave before he was allowed to return, and he was beginning to get proper bored of the whole thing. He perused the library shelves, all the worn books and dog eared pages. His sister was in the queue, her three different copies she had hoped the author would sign clutched in her arms while talking to another person in the queue.
The books smelled worn, and the chatter of the people was comforting as he walked down one of the isles. Searching for Soldier heart just to see how loved it was here, what other people thought about it. Sue him for being curious.
Right under S, was a display, the red letters that boldly red out ‘new arrival’ and best seller award underneath. Right next to soldier heart was a new book by RS. Soap froze, hastily yanking it out of the little stand on the shelf. Flipping it and seeing the many reviews from different big companies, the little summary – surprisingly not another love story.
This time it was a thriller, the little lgbt sticker absent, and Soap could barely contain his excitement. He flipped open the cover, expecting a similar dedication as last time but now freezing again when he saw the little sentence.
‘Dedicated to Gary, who helped me write this and support my writing.’
Soap felt a twinge in his chest. He didn’t really know why, but the time he’d spent with Soldier Heart and RS’ writing made him nearly think he knew the author. It was odd to think about the unknown man behind one of his favourite books. Someone out there actually getting to know him, this Gary who probably could read first drafts or discuss ideas – Soap nearly felt jealous.
Like a vice slowly closing around his heart, how it felt like Soap had known RS. How he scoured the internet for any news of other releases, or social media, anything at this point. Soap had even sketched how he thought the author looked like, stuck into Soldier heart by the dedication page. A vague shape of a man from the military, buzz cut and looking more like a facial composite from a barely there description hidden behind the story – what Soap had tried to envision sitting behind the story and tapping away at some computer somewhere. He had made him blond, just because the main character was blond, with dark eyes since it felt natural to put yourself into a story like that – or Soap thought at least.
But he flipped to the first pages after he sat down into a plush chair at the end of the shelves. Patiently waiting for his sister, he understood suddenly that this book wasn’t like the first one – so far from it. It felt like a rush to be sucked back into the written word of this RS, what once had been the author of Soap’s comfort book shifted to the author who could silence the world around Soap with just a simple text.
The book was set in the special forces yet again, the main character having to deal with a big drug lord or some cartel somewhere. Right from the get go Soap was thrusted into a action packed plot, with barely room to breathe. The book felt like it held a lot of anger, that the words screamed and yelled up at him from the fresh printed library copy.
Soap hadn’t noticed how long he’d sat there, flipping page after page of devastating descriptions of what he himself had endured to somewhat extent. Cartels were one thing, the constant war against drugs he knew well – gone on countless of drug busts all over the world on deployments. The world around him fell silent as he practically inhaled the words in front of him, barely reading down a paragraph before his eyes would skip down and try to read just a bit faster. Practically spoiling himself before he got to the paragraphs.
A hand on his shoulder startled him, flinching away and gripping the wrist by his neck twisting viciously on instinct. Emma yelped, face twisting in pain and Soap felt immediate guilt, “ah fuck,” he cursed, letting the book drop from his lap and down onto the floor, “Emma I’m so sorry, ye know ye cannae sneak up on me!”
“I tried to call yer name ya eejit,” she hissed, rubbing her wrist to soothe the sting, “what did you even read?” He glanced down to the floor, where the book had been carelessly dropped, the title page beaming up at him with those familiar white letters on a minimalistic dark background depicting a silhouette of a soldier walking towards the reader. Emma tilted her head squinting slightly, “Burned?”
“Aye,” he leant down to pick it up, dusting off the cover and closing it gently like an apology, “it’s from this author I like.”
“I didnae even know you could read,” she teased before reaching for the book, he smacked her lightly with a hurt gasp, “is it good?” She ignored him and continued to reach for the book.
“I don’t know,” he murmured, letting her take it and read the back, “it’s a new release,” she hummed and turned it back around. Nodding slightly to herself making Soap turn back to the shelves where Soldier Heart was, dragging it out and seeing the well loved pages here too. Dog eared and covered in plastic that was scuffed and well worn – he couldn’t help but smile at it. The comfort it still gave him as he handed it to his sister who took it without too much question, “this is my favourite.”
She smiled, gently taking it and flipping it over to read the summary, “the one ye always carry?”
“Aye,” he answered sheepishly, toying with the cast on that covered his left forearm, scribbled on with small notes from his fellow soldiers, a hidden dick scribbled right below his elbow where he could barely see it if he twisted himself in half – give military men a pen and dicks would be drawn, just how nature intended.
“Might as well read it aye?” She was already halfway down the aisle towards the library check out, not even waiting for an answer from Soap who sighed and followed behind.
Soap didn’t borrow the new release, he instead went straight to a bookshop to snatch a copy, even grabbing a hardcover version that matched Soldier Heart knowing he would be enjoying that one too. That very night he laid down on the couch, propped up with pillows to compensate for his once broken arm as he continued to read. The thought of that email far removed from his mind as he snuggled into the comforts of his own not worn couch.
Medical leave had never gone by so fast, his eyes glued down to the pages as he flipped the paper, anger churning in his gut as the characters got burned by a trusted ally, read on in horror as the RS described heavy wounds and inflicted torture where the main character got kidnapped. Guilt and sadness as he read the last couple of pages where one of the main side characters got severely injured, hollow words that nearly whispered the grief they held of a death that a hadn’t been described. Soap couldn’t even try to stop the tears or the sobs, as he read the descriptive funeral of a character he had grown to absolutely adore throughout the story, how the main character broke down and mourned over a headstone. Soap nearly wanting to reach out to RS to comfort, right there from his couch in Scotland, as stupid as it sounded.
The book ending in a twist where Soap barely could make out the words, ‘end of book one’ and something a bit happier unfurled in his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears.
4.
Being a sergeant was nice, the paperwork was awful, running drills and training exercises was something he either hated or loved dearly, but the title was worn proudly ever since he got promoted.
One thing he loved the most was the freedom of being himself. Soap revelled in it, became more open, let the issues of the past rest as he let himself just be, not caring about what people thought or said. Could live with the confidence he’d always had buried in his chest. And whoever had a problem with it simply got a punishment that was just on the verge of torture – or as close at it could get within regulations of course.
He was leafing through burned by RS, sketching and plotting in coordinates and maps the books detailed. Had printed pictures of the nature where the characters in the book saw, visualising it and trying to draw conclusions and draw a red thread through the whole thing.
Soap was a patient man, always had been. He could be jittery and full of energy but he knew patience well – would never get to where he was without it. There was rumours of a second book to burned that was estimated to be released soon, some subreddit who had ‘inside’ information or some shit. And he could barely wait as he sat with it on his desk. This book hadn’t seen as much of the world as soldier heart had, no book would probably ever be, but it was well loved and stuffed full of his own ramblings nonetheless. Annotated and dog eared, post it notes and sketches of the characters. Trying to connect and figure out the next books plot and characters with just the first one as his guide. Trying to figure out what RS had in store for a continued story.
A knock on his door made him put down the book, twisting in the chair as he called for the person to enter, watching as Roach and Gaz pop their heads in, “got a meeting at 1400,” Gaz said, waltzing in as he always did whenever they got stationed at the same base – this time being special, as they both got stationed in the same unit for the upcoming assignments. A sweet treat was Roach stationing here too.
Roach walked in after casually, looking around curiously while gaz started on some tangent about one of the superiors. Soap half listened, kept an eye on where Roach was standing in front of his dresser. Right where he had most of his books, snuggled in between some to be read books Soap would never actually read, was Soldier Heart – both the soft cover stuffed full and scuffed beyond recognition through the plastic and the pristine hard cover Soap read when he didn’t want his own rambling getting in the way.
“You like this?” Roach asked, voice rough and a bit uneven, on most days using sign language after an old injury to his throat and vocal chords. He dragged out the scuffed up version of Soldier heart, looking over the plastic covered cover with a fond quirky smile.
“Ugh don’t get him started,” Gaz groaned teasingly, “he has it on every deployment since we met.”
“Fuck off Kyle,” Soap poked Gaz’s side, getting a satisfying yelp back while he leaned back in the chair, “to answer yer question Roach, yes I like that one, been a favourite of mine since I found it.”
Roach hummed, turning it and opening it up. Before, Soap would’ve flown across the room already, yanking the book out of his hands and hiding it away. But now he didn’t find himself to care, Roach was cool, ever since they met recently. Borrowed from a different task force for his and Gaz’s assignments. “Read the other one?” He asked after smiling down at one of the sketches.
Gaz sighed and sat down on the bed in the room. Soap swivelled in the chair, closing Burned and handing it over to Roach, “loved this one too.”
“I didn’t like the ending,” Roach chuckled, flipping over the cover and leaf in through some on the added contents Soap had made. Soap sputtered, a question on his lips, but Roach continued, “hate when authors kill of their characters like that, just can’t stand the direction he went with.” Soap frowned harder, it nearly sounded like an old argument Roach had had many times. Like it had been discussed and bickered over and over again, but there was something fond there too. A slight glint in his eyes as he read over an annotated paragraph, “heard there is a new book being released next week.”
“Ye read the subreddit too?” Soap beamed, nearly forgetting the past opinion in favour of hearing Roach’s thoughts.
Roach looked at him confused for a whole three seconds before nodding and closing the book with a loud smack, “yeah, the.. subreddit, got posted not too long ago,” he said nearly unsure. Shuffling on his feet and giving Burned back like it, well pun not intended, burnt him.
“I can’t even wait Roach,” he started, rambling on as Gaz snickered from his bed, Phone out swiping on some social media or something. Knowing that Roach had seriously put money in the talking machine that sometimes was called Soap.
“And I think he will be back,” he explained to roach who had patiently listened all the way from his room to the meeting room already half packed with people. Roach nodded smiling knowingly as Soap rambled on, “because I figured his whole story is actually unfinished, it was brilliant Roach, RS managed to hide that so well…”
Soap sat heavily down into the chair, still talking about RS like he knew the man well, pulling out his journal to take notes of the upcoming meeting. It took him a good while to realise everyone had fallen silent, the once chattering amongst everyone turned deathly silenced as everyone stared down Soap with exasperated gazes.
John Price, who had recently pulled Soap’s file from selection, had crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow with a hidden smile in his facial hair, “you done sergeant?” He asked over the silence.
Making Soap sheepishly straighten up his posture and nodding, “of course Captain,” he smiled easily, settling into his charm instead of feeling the flaming embarrassment. Roach snickered silently, giving his arm a apologetic squeeze when Price continued to address the room.
“You all will be assigned to a specialised task force called 141,” Price said a while after presenting the upcoming mission, “details and stations will be revealed closer to shipping out, dismissed.”
Soap never ended up getting the second book when it released, a flashy title of ‘going dark’ hitting the shelves. He was busy with running after missing missiles. Tumbling through the bloody streets of Las Almas, adding to the already red cobblestone with his own blood with Ghost telling bad jokes in his ear. Dangling his feet – quite unwillingly – outside of a skyscraper with Hassan clutching his emptied out tactical vest and the trained scope of Ghost’s sniper saving his skin just barely.
It was after, a couple of days later when the 141 had officially become a task force under Laswell permanently. To continue working alongside each other, that he could order Going dark. Excitedly rambling to Gaz how the book would turn out.
It was, well Soap was going to be honest, amazing. Felt nearly like it wasn’t finished when it concluded the story, RS managing to write something even better than anything he’d published before. The prose was good, devastatingly so, the story caught him off guard. A twist and a sudden resurrection of the past dead character from Burned, a revenge so sweet Soap’s teeth practically ached alongside his cheeks as he smiled. It wasn’t as action packed, didn’t draw him in like the two other books RS had written, but it felt like a good ending. A silent goodbye as the last pages got flipped.
He hadn’t seen any dedication, the book had just begun when he flipped over the first pages, but nestled at the end, a little line – a dedication hidden behind the gratitude, right underneath the big letters of ‘THE END’.
‘Thank you to all who read my work, this wouldn’t be possible without the constant support, maybe I will return.’
Soap annotated the book as usual, scribbled in the margins and outlined his conclusions, answering the predictions he’d made in Burned that translated really well. He sketched the landmarks and faces – weapons and gear. It ended up on the shelf by Soldier heart. Three books that held so much love – a stark contrast to the other plain untouched books surrounding them – it felt like a goodbye with this mysterious RS. Like the silent whisper of ‘maybe I will return’.
He ended up with picking up Soldier heart again, flipping through the sections and reading that to calm the aching heart, like he had been broken up with. A bruise to the inside of his chest by a man he’d never met, who had spurred so much emotions from characters on paper.
5.
It had been a long while, missions running long and the 141 being actively busy. The line up of assignments felt never ending, but finally, it was a bit of a lull in the flurry of packing and unpacking. Soap was perusing the local bookshop with Ghost trailing behind him. A steady heavy shadow stepping where he had just stepped on the cold tiled floor, knowing it was safe. Like a cat in the snow, placing their paws in the holes made by the front paws.
It was the typical town run, a long list of groceries and shit the 141 needed – mostly candy and coffee – and Soap had been the one to draw the short straw today. But it was fine, because Ghost had decided to tag along nonetheless. It was comfortable, it always was with Ghost behind him, watching him. Soap loved it, couldn’t help the smile that etched into his cheeks whenever Ghost was near. Blinding like the sun, eyes crinkling and turning gooey soft. Getting nearly equally soft glances back, a small little agreement of something between them that neither wanted voice aloud in fear of breaking it.
The bookshop was busy for some odd reason, a cluster of people milling around and flipping through book after book to find something of interest. Soap wandered down an aisle, fingers brushing against the spines and titles, watching the dust swirl in the evening sun pouring in from the large storefront windows. There were children laughing in a corner, some students looking at price tags of university books and some old lady who was squinting down into a knitting book.
Soap had tried to find a new author to read, RS had officially not given anything out for a long time now, even the subreddit with that ‘insider’ had said nothing was going to be published. It was heartbreaking, and technically Soap wasn’t a big reader, but he missed the comfort. The sheer amount of content he made for himself for the three books he just about adored. He still found himself sketching out the faces of the characters, tweaking and changing the features when he noticed something new being described about them.
He still found himself sketching the author too, an amalgamation of the many faces Soap saw on a daily basis. He’d tried different hairstyles, eye colours, skin colours, everything under the sun. Nothing seemed to properly fit the unknown man behind the words. It was a bit sad, Soap thought, that he would probably never know the author like it felt like he did. Sometimes when he read Soldier heart late at night, he found himself nearly thinking he was reading the inner most raw confessions from RS, and sometimes he didn’t really need to know what the man looked or sounded like. He just knew him, in an odd sort of obsessed way.
Ghost hummed behind him, a step faltering that made Soap turn. Following the brief line of sight Ghost had on the shelf was none other than RS’ books. All three of them. Soap smiled and chuckled, “have ye read these yet?” He asked, because he had already pestered Ghost about reading them, even shoving the hardcover versions – the ones promptly without the mess of his own ramblings in them – and begged him to just read them. At least Soldier heart, but Ghost had just shaken his head with a small scoff, and said something in the line of;
“No,” Ghost answered, voice low and nonchalant, vigilant eyes scanning over the tops of the many shelves, “not my style of books.”
“Seriously,” Soap groaned, deciding to toe the already stretched line and lean his forehead against Ghost’s shoulder, “please Lt, they’re good, I promise,” and Ghost knew. Because Soap had rambled on and on when he had been given an opening to start – well it was more of a forced opening on a boring mission, but an opening nonetheless.
Ghost shoved him away, it wasn’t harsh, with an exasperated “fuckin’ hell Soap,” but Soap saw the slight fondness in his eyes. Knowing deep inside his chest, no one else could do what Soap could. No one could touch so freely, lean and drag the Ghost around. Bicker and pester in any way he could, annoy and brag – share jokes and cigarettes under the moonlight when neither of them could sleep, have the deeper conversations surrounded by the blanket of night. Share meals and steal Ghost’s apple since he always got himself two each morning, take the tomatoes Soap knew Ghost liked but always said he himself hated and shoved them onto Soap’s plate. The small hard candies on missions from a small plastic baggie in Ghost’s tactical vest, sour and yellow, tasting so sweet after a little while, tinting their tongues yellow.
Soap laughed, letting his eyes settle back onto the shelf again, squinting at the titles. The he furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head as he read the titles one more time. There right next to Soldier heart was a unknown title, “red cobblestone,” he read out slowly, like he was unsure of what he was seeing. The book had a glossy cover, different from the three matte books, the large letters of RS at the bottom of the book, the actual colourful cover art and title.
He heard Ghost breathe in sharply, all going ignored as Soap’s heart thundered in his chest. He flipped it and read the summary, the LGBT award sticker on the back, and again there was the usual reviews. This time instead of congratulating RS with his knack for words the New York Times actually only said, ‘seems like RS found his muse and it shows in the way the story is written. Beautiful and aching in all the good ways’ alongside a 6 dice review.
“Johnny,” Ghost started but again going ignored as Soap nearly ran towards the checkout, a manic smile plastered onto his face.
“Lt, I thought he was done writing!” He couldn’t help it, the lady behind the cash register chuckled behind her hand as she scanned in Red Cobblestone, “I just love this author,” he said conversationally to her, making her nod.
“It is incredibly well written,” she answered back, pulling out a plastic bag and also slipping in a bookmark with a wink, “I’m nearly jealous of who he is writing about.”
Soap paid, dragged Ghost out of the bookstore and was already on the way back to their car when Ghost stopped, “Johnny we have to go to the store too,” he seemed suddenly so tense, nervous eyes eyeing the bag. Soap groaned, hung his head in defeat as he followed after Ghost, the book feeling heavy in his hand as it swayed by his thigh. Ghost kept his silence while picking out three different energy drinks for Gaz and the grapes Price had asked for.
It took him exactly ten minutes after returning to base to sit his arse down and open the book. The couch in the rec room was the comfiest so he snuggled into the worn down stained pillows and started by cracking the spine lightly – sue him, he like the worn down look.
The cover was more abstract this time around, colourful with a lot of red details to compliment the red title, something that could look like hands on a tactical vest hidden in the swirling art. He skipped the usual first pages and landed on the dedication page, it nearly made him breathless.
‘Dedicated to John, the story here represent the love I wish I could properly show to you.’
And if that wasn’t a warning for Soap, his name and everything plastered on the dedication page – now John was a very common name – but it still sent tingles down his spine. The second he started the actual story he knew, he knewthis was a contender to take the top spot of favourite books – even topping Soldier heart.
Gaz had come in some hours later, trying to start a causal conversation only to be outright ignored, Ghost had come in too but promptly turned in the doorway when his eyes landed on Soap for some odd reason. Soap was just gone, sucked into the story just like he had been with Soldier heart. But this time he was older, more open, less afraid for the judgement and different treatment. The LGBT sticker still sat proudly on the back for all to see, his eyes read each and every beautifully written word. The story captivating him and thrusting him into the shoes of the main character, a devastating love story that was fast paced and brutal.
Set in the same military setting, spec ops and whirling missions that again – for plot reasons as usual – went off the rails and they had to be on their own. Falling in love over the pages, satisfying and achingly sweet. Soap couldn’t put the book down. Not even when the night shift had started and everyone else had gone to sleep. Soap stayed put, way into the night, reading what nearly felt familiar in an odd sort of way.
He pictured himself and Ghost, his heart fluttering inside his chest as he imagined them being the main characters. It fitted, weirdly enough, a blond main character, stoic and nonchalant. Badass through and through with trauma to make the shrink run to the hills, honed in technical skills to put a common soldier to shame, scars and a soft interior – achingly sweet and considerate in a way that could maybe reflect Ghost. And the love interest, a hot headed strong brunette with a fiery passion for explosives – something that made Soap’s inside twist in glee.
The story unfurled in a chaotic and amazing way, a mix of betrayal and fleeing, the slow decent into a relationship that stemmed from so much trust between the two characters, a sort of strangers to lovers. The final slow burn that ended in an explosion when they both gave into it and fell into each others arms. It made Soap nearly cry, well that is a lie, he’d had tears in his eyes ever since he opened the book practically. Joy settled into his chest just as dawn started to break outside when the ending rounded off with an epilogue of a retirement, a small house by the sea, a lazy rag doll cat and a German shepherd. Soft touches and domestic bliss as the words eventually stopped.
On stiff legs and burning eyes he closed the book with a sigh, he got up and stumbled back to his room, sleeping well beyond breakfast and blearily walking to lunch to find tomato slices being placed onto his plate the second he slumped down into his spot opposite of Ghost. He smiled, settled into a conversation with Gaz, bumped his shoes against Ghost’s and peered over at him through his lashes, getting an intense gaze back that just read as fondness. The tomato tasting sweet in his mouth.
He found himself a couple of weeks later, for the lack of better words, down right obsessed with Red cobblestone. The annotations were pages long, he sketched and outlined, highlighted and marked everything. The book was a mess of colours and post its, taped in papers and a lot of scribbles in the margins.
Like Soldier heart gave him a safe space in his early military career, Red cobblestone gave him an escape. A world that he could project his feelings into, his devastating crush on Ghost contained into the pages. He sketched the main characters faces, just a tad different than himself and the few glimpses he’d seen of Ghost’s face, he sketched their weapons like his and Ghost’s own favourites. Made comics and journal entries of his thoughts. It nearly felt like a sickness. The floodgates finally getting to be opened and just releasing the amount of feelings he didn’t really know the scope of until now. Like he was playing house with Barrie dolls making them kiss and fall in love over and over again on paper – all disguised as the characters from Red Cobblestone.
He still hung around Ghost, talked and bugged him whenever he could. Shared those cigarettes and pestered him out for drinks with the rest of the 141. But still, when he had downtime he started sketching the characters faces – nearly like self portraits and Ghost studies – letting his heart bleed onto the pages. The release was nice, but also a bit hollow.
Yes, he touched Ghost more tenderly than anyone else, he crowded into his space and shared apples each morning. Their conversations were soft and deep, huddled close together. Seeking out each others company, working out in the gym together, sparring whenever emotions and adrenaline got too high. But they never talked about it, never pushed the harsh line etched between them. No matter how many times underneath the moonlight Soap wanted to just pluck the cigarette resting on Ghost’s bottom lip off and replace it with his own lips, he never did. They never did.
Between their difference in rank and the duty they both shared, never crossing the official fraternisation rules despite both of them practically shouting it silently at each other. In real life it felt so difficult, because Soap didn’t dare to destroy what they shared. But in Red Cobblestone, it was easy and nice, far away was regulations and duty. The easiness of just being together and working alongside each other, so Soap let himself have just that.
But sometimes, late at night with the book open and the scenes he had annotated and drawn obsessively much, the final snap of the rubber band between the two characters where they finally crossed the line Soap and Ghost never probably would. He would scribble in small confessions, most of the time he would erase them, but one night he scrawled out a simple, ‘is this how it would feel like with Simon?’, before falling asleep.
The confession was promptly forgotten. It was one of those days that were warm and slow, recruits out on a training and Soap sat by Ghost’s side in the training field waiting for their return. They didn’t talk much, sitting in the shadows of the building so not to get a heat stroke. Soap was reading Red Cobblestone, his obsession not waning even though he had probably read it a million times at this point. He was getting to the scene again, the first kiss, when he heard thundering boots hitting the dirt and gravel. A recruit panting as he stopped in front of Soap, “Sorry sergeant MacTavish, but there is a situation,” he breathed out, red in the face with a scared look in his eyes.
Soap was on his feet following him, leaving behind Red Cobblestone page down to keep his place in the chair he and Ghost had dragged out of the rec room earlier. Leaving Ghost to sit there in the shade while Soap took care of the so called situation – which in most cases were sprained ankles.
What he didn’t know was Ghost staring down his receding back, watching intently as they both rounded the corner before leaning over his chair and plucking up Red cobblestone. His own backwards initials staring back at him, the shame in his stomach as he read the title of his book that was the most raw book he had ever written.
Soldier heart was a release of comfort, a ‘you are not alone’ to all the other soldier who were in the military and tiptoed around their own sexuality. Burned and Going Dark was an anger filled story to get his own trauma off his chest, only spurred on by Roach who also had begged to be put into the book – only to get annoyed by the characterisation so Ghost had decided to kill him off for the fun of it. But Red cobblestone wasn’t supposed be anything more than a hidden confession stuffed into his drafts. But then his publisher and editor had asked for an outline for a story he had tried to get off his chest, only to miss click and send the nearly finished Red Cobblestone instead.
He barely got a say in it, but it felt good when they both came back to him with a demand to let them publish it. And Ghost, as stupid as he was, said yes, only to forget a little detail in this whole thing. Soap apparently loved him, or author him, RS – the writing he sometimes did because he found out he had a knack for it while in school. Had all his books, hardbacks and softcovers, annotated and brought with him everywhere he went. It made Ghost’s heart thump inside his chest when he first saw Soldier heart. The scuffed up version, the many sketches Soap had taped into it, how much it had been loved. The same could be said for the two other books.
But then in that bookshop, when Ghost had seen for the first time Red Cobblestone sitting there on the shelf he had stumbled. It was too soon, he hadn’t been prepared, and Soap had latched onto it. Dragged it out into the open, the confession Ghost so desperately wanted to yell at Soap. Drag him into his arms and just do what the story had already done. He hadn’t been ready then, and he didn’t know if he was ready to see what Soap had added to it now.
He glanced up again, finding himself alone still, gloved fingers catching on the slight rips in the cover, the groves of the cracked spine of a book that was well loved despite being only a couple of weeks old. He flipped it over to the page Soap had been on, and he could help the redness creeping up his chest hidden under the layers and his mask thankfully. That scene was his favourite, inspired by the stumbling crash of both of them in Chicago after Hassan had nearly thrown Soap out a window, a mess of feelings they didn’t know what meant. Until Ghost had realised after a couple of weeks, heart stuttering and mind reeling when the feelings that tightened his chest got recognised. He loved Soap, dearly and intimately, but the fear of loosing him was too great. So he let it simmer just underneath his skin.
He huffed out a small laugh at the scribbled annotations, let his fingers glide against the graphite drawings that made his eyebrows furrow. The blond shorn hair, the scarred face, the other who nearly if one squinted could look like Soap. He ignored the swoop in his stomach, as he flipped the pages to find more sketches of faces that looked eerily similar to himself maskless and Soap with different hair and facial structure. The curiosity got the better of him as he flipped one more page, the actual kissing scene, he remembered when he wrote it. Frustrated and frankly a bit drunk, rambling on and on over his keyboard with impossible feelings swirling inside his chest. How he imagined it was him and Soap, let himself just retell what could have happened.
That’s when he saw it, scrawled in a chicken scratch down the page, different from all the others. This one was barely there, like it wasn’t meant to be permanent, not deep and denting like the other annotations and comments. His heart stopped as he read it.
‘is this how it would feel like with Simon?’
He put the book down then, stared off into the distance while his mind reeled of all the possibilities. The options he had laid out in front of him. He couldn’t even glance back at Soap who came back jogging with an annoyed huff and a, “gotta follow Blake down to medical, think he got heatstroke or something,” before turning and running off with his stuff. Red cobblestone in his hand and the emptied out water bottle Ghost had thrusted into his hands when they started the training.
“Fuck,” he whispered out into the heat of the day, getting up to his feet as the rest of the recruits came running back from the trail run Ghost had sent them out on. Collecting the ‘intel’ they were supposed to collect while running – just plain numbers hastily thrown up next to the trail – before dismissing them early. He was on a mission, the stars and planets lining up in his favour as he glanced at the date. He just needed to call his editor.
+1
Soap was in Ghost’s room, it had become a thing whenever Ghost was doing work and Soap needed some peace and quiet but still seeking out social contact. It was already late, and he was drawing in his journal, the peace between them had settled nicely and Soap was just content sprawled across Ghost’s bed while listening to the soft clacks of Ghost’s keyboard.
Ghost kept glancing over to him, Soap had noticed it ever since he popped his head through the door unannounced – well it wasn’t unannounced per se, he always arrived at the same time each evening. But he let Ghost work it out himself, knowing it wasn’t useful to try to push Ghost to tell him prematurely.
It was a while later, Soap was starting to get sleepy, yawning every now and then, a sure sign that he needed to head out before falling asleep in Ghost’s bed – though he wouldn’t mind doing so. He closed his journal with his pencils shoved into it, stretching like a cat with a small grunt as his shoulders popped and he started to get up.
“Johnny?” Ghost’s voice cut through the rustling of fabric as Soap fiddled with his shoes, and he smiled to himself as he looked back at Ghost, knowing the man had been stewing on it ever since he’d arrived.
“Aye Simon?” He leaned back, letting the shoes fall back onto the floor as he watched Ghost fiddle with the papers sitting idly on his desk. Computer screen still on, illuminating Ghost like a rectangular halo.
“It’s midnight,” he started, and Soap checked his wrist watch to check and damn, it was. He smiled knowingly, peering back at ghost again and nodding slowly. Ghost seemed unsure, nervous but he got up from his chair silently and walked to his closet. Pulling open the doors as he rummaged for a little while, then he got out a wrapped package. Brown paper with a marker that read out, ‘Johnny’, nothing more but Soap smiled even wider. Letting Ghost come over to where Soap now had gotten up to his feet by the bed, “happy birthday, Johnny,” and then he handed over the present.
“Awe Lt, I knew ye liked me,” Soap landed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, squeezing while eyeing the present with a near hungry look, it was most likely a book. Soap could feel the weight and the shape in his hand as he retracted his hand and unceremoniously ripped off the paper. A distant memory flickering in the back of his mind as the brown paper revealed not one but two books. Well, to call them books was a understatement. Bound with a brown plain cover, simple small typeface letters, a bunch of scribbles all over it in pencil, “what’s this?” He asked dumbly.
The paper fell to the floor as he turned the books, and then he actually read the front.
official title: Soldier heart
Written by RS
First draft
Soap gasped, then he looked at the next one underneath, feeling happiness bubbling up from deep within his chest.
Official title: Red Cobblestone
Written by RS
First draft
“Simon,” Soap could bare speak, he looked back as Ghost, who still stood there with nervous eyes, “how the hell did ye get these?” Because how? RS didn’t even have book signings, was a myth amongst his readers. Barely communicating except to drop a book here and there over the years. Soap was speechless, gaping down at the books – it was the best gift someone had ever given him. His heart thundered in his chest, this had to cost a fortune, or Ghost had broken in somewhere to get him this.
Ghost gently took soldier heart out of his grasp, laying it down onto the bed, before grasping red cobblestone. “It was actually very easy,” he murmured, opening it up to what down the line was a dedication page, “had to dig through some old storage.”
Soap couldn’t even comprehend the uttered words, gawking at the dedication page with wide eyes, he looked back up at Ghost. Wide eyed and speechless still, staring into those brown eyes who still looked so nervous. And Soap understood why, right there on the dedication page five lines of text.
Dedicated to Johnny, I love you
Dedicated to Soap, who I wish I could show…
Dedicated to John, who I love
Dedicated to John, the love I wish I could properly show to you…
Dedicated to John, the story here represent the love I wish I could properly show to you
Still, he felt a bit of confusion, even though the answer was yelling at him from the book – practically written out. But his logical mind had left the building the second he had read the last line, “what?” His voice squeaked out.
Ghost stepped closer, a hand curling around his wrist that still held the book open, “I read the annotation you did in Red Cobblestone,” it was barely above a whisper. Soap filtered through his mind to figure out what Ghost was talking about, while he could only hear the rushing of his blood in his ears. “You wanted to know if it felt like that with me,” he continued, making Soap blush and stutter out a breath.
“Simon,” his voice was uneven, shaking as he lightly threw the book onto the bed with the first draft of Soldier Heart, and it suddenly dawned on him. His brain making the connection when he had all the clues in front of him, “Riley Simon, RS…” Ghost kept his silence while Soap’s face went through the different stages of recognition. And then a small smile unfurled across his lips, he moved closer, stepping fully into Ghost’s space letting their hands intertwine. “Aye,” he answered, “I would like to know that.”
Ghost huffed out a laugh, before he brought up the other hand to his balaclava and dragged it off – revealing his blond short shorn hair, the scarred face, those thin lips. Soap couldn’t help but smile wider, dopily and with the biggest heart eyes probably.
They met in the middle, moving like on the field, together as a unit. The first press of lips did feel like an explosion, the tightness in Soap’s chest unfurling and the dam breaking and releasing all its energy. His hands clutched at Simon’s clothes, dragging him bodily closer, breathed in the scent of him. Tongues licking and teeth biting, bruising each others lips with the fervour of it. A big massive step – that was long overdue – across the line between them. The walls they had unwillingly built between them crumbling and making way for openness.
It was hard to breathe properly, with how their noses seemed to mush together, and Soap felt like he was burning from the touch Ghost had on his waist and lower back. And it ended a bit to soon for Soap’s taste as they peered into each others eyes panting slightly. Kiss swollen lips, pupils blown wide and a sheen of spit around their mouths.
Soap couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, letting his hands lay flat against Simon’s chest and drag up and around his neck. Still standing close, bodies pressed together and breathing the same air. Ghost smiled too, ducking his head slightly with a redness creeping up his neck, “I was scared you weren’t gonna like the gift.”
Soap snorted and cradled Ghost’s jaw, tipping his head upwards to meet his warm eyes properly, “if ye gave me a rock and a kiss like that with it I would’ve been happy Simon.”
“Then I can save some money for next year then,” he joked, smiling just as dopily back. “Disappointed it was me all along?” Ghost asked, eyes moving towards the books sitting idly on the bed. One that Soap had found so much comfort in, kept him sane in the low times of his early military career, and the second a outlet for his unrequited love that wasn’t as unrequited as he had thought.
“I am actually more comforted it was you all along,” he confessed, head twisting back to soldier Heart, a strange fondness in his chest. The thought of having Ghost’s story soothe his once aching heart, the feeling of having a full book dedicated to him poured over flowingly full with a raw confessed love, “you got me through Las Almas and Chicago alive, but you alone comforted me through some tough times…”
Soap ended up staying, leafing through Soldier heart with a grin as he watched the many crossed out sections, blue and red pens all over the pages. Wrongly spelled words and long sentences that didn’t have any proper punctuation. Filler words and awful placeholder names for the side characters throughout most of the book.
Ghost was wrapped around him, head pillowed onto Soap’s chest, humming out answers when Soap asked a question. It was a lull in the questions, Ghost was just on the verge of falling asleep right there with Soap’s beating heart lulling him into sweet dreams. “How did you even find Soldier heart?” He slurred into the fabric of Soap’s shirt, nuzzling in further and shifting his weight more on top of Soap.
Soap hummed, the smile that still hadn’t faded from his face stretched wider, “okay way back I was at this airport,” he started, “and I needed something for the flight and I saw this stand that said Blind date with a book, all the books were wrapped up and only having some vague tags on them. And this one book had ‘military romance’ all over it, so I grabbed it.”
“Blind date with a book?” Ghost chuckled, lifting his head to look back at Soap, “and that was Soldier Heart?”
“aye, ye got me crying in the fuckin’ bathroom when I came back from that flight ya bastard,” and it made them both laugh.
“Seems like we already had a first date then?”
Soap thought a bit about it, before nodding and scratching at his chin, “I think we need a new one,” he smirked, watching as Ghost smirked and nodding as much as he could with his chin resting on Soap’s chest, “my treat?”
“Yeah,” Ghost agreed, settling back and Soap continued to read on.
The next book published by RS a year or so later tops the charts within the romance genre, no one could quite understand why until that subreddit with that ‘insider’ say that the dedication from Red Cobblestone worked – signing off his last post on his anonymous account with a little roach emoji.