"Aw, shut yer puss, fannybaws." Soap scoffed, and ended the call, shoving his phone into his pockets and crossing his arms with a pout, laying back on the couch. Another fight with the missus about him not being home enough.

"What eef I 'on't wonna be haeme if ya does ma tits in, ye radge walloper?" he's argued many times, to no avail and rather more fighting. He's uncomfortable being the one without a smile on his face now, and can't stand anyone who seems happy in the least.

Even if that someone is Ghost. Ghost isn't who you'd think of first when you think 'happy', would you? He's happy now, or moreso content, sat a few feet in front of Soap, before the fireplace, yourself sat up before him, asleep, your head on his knee, like a warm, bony pillow. He rakes his gloved fingers lovingly through your scalp, and thinks "yeah, this is the life."

".. D'ya 'ave aen'one ye love, LT?" Soap spoke up, not liking the silence. Ghost nods.

"In a way." he grunts, careful not to be too loud and wake you up. Ghost doesn't have a romantic interest in anyone, no. He likes to consider that love of friends and brothers is far superior. Like how 141 are his loyal mates. And you're like his child to him. It's fatherly love. He even asked you to call him 'dad'. He'll protect you like his own flesh and blood. That's the love he has.