Chapter Text
Tuesday
Soap got lots of strange men and women that came through his late night coffee and bakery shop. But a big hulking man in a skull balaclava? That was one for the history books. It was right up there with a couple of drag queens dressed up as Finding Nemo characters, but at least this one didn’t leave his lobby coated in glitter and boa feathers and sequins and god knew what else when they finally trundled out again. Damned that he was, they were regulars now too.
“Welcome to the Scot’s Final Stand, how can I help ya?” Soap greeted the man. A cornered animal was a more apt description for what he saw. The man’s deep eyes looked haunted, and the grease paint he wore did nothing to subvert that assumption. Soap scanned the man’s tactical gear quickly, picking up on the amount of knife hilts and gun holsters that covered the man.
“Didn’t know we were at war in Glasgow,” Soap teased. The man huffed.
“One black coffee, large, as much caffeine as you can,” The man stated. Soap tapped in the order quickly, his sense of self-preservation dying out as he reached for the large cup and popped his hip out as he poised a pen over the side.
“Name for one large black coffee, enough caffeine to kill an elephant?” Soap asked, a grin spreading on his face as he watched the man get three notches more uncomfortable. Soap figured that if he was going to enter his place of business like a damned military cosplayer, he was going to have his fun too.
“Ghost,” He said finally, and stomped off to stand under the pick-up sign.
Soap quickly scribbled the name out, and added a little ghost drawing just for his own amusement. He idly wondered if the man would cover the drawing with his thumb when he left, lest his poor manly ego be grievously injured by the girlish mark on his big tough guy drink.
Soap set the drink down in front of Ghost, and because he wanted to push his theory about the man’s fragile masculinity to the max, he set a dainty pink cookie down beside the drink as well.
“I didn’t order a dessert,” Ghost said flatly.
“I know you didn't, it’s on the house,” Soap said, “it’s the witching hour for the coffeeshop anyways. Not many people get coffee at 1 in the morning on a Tuesday night,”
“Can’t be that bad for business or you’d be closed,” Ghost said, snatching the coffee up. A moment later, he hesitantly grabbed the cookie as well.
“This is more of a pity shift. For the poor lost souls of the world who need my delicious coffee and pastries,” Soap said.
“Hm,” Ghost said, turning. He stomped off, wrenching the door open a little too harshly as he left.
“Brr,” Soap said to himself. Ah, well, the man hadn’t covered the ghost drawing after all, and that was a win in his book.
Saturday
Soap genuinely did not expect to see the man again. It was a one time thing he figured. Or maybe the man had come by again, but had decided to dress normally. Lord knew that Soap probably wouldn’t be able to recognize him without all the insane tactical get-up. He wasn’t even sure if he hadn’t dreamt the man up, as some sort of strange Robert Pattinson’s Batman delusion.
So there he was, in the lull on a Saturday, tracing the whirls of the wooden counter as he argued with himself silently over having just one more cookie. He didn't even bother to glance up when the bell above the door rang. It was most likely someone who couldn’t sleep, given the bars had closed a solid two hours ago, and even the drunks knew to sleep at this point of night.
The guest cleared their throat, and Soap lifted his eyes to get a face full of a rather tight black shirt.
“I see yer only armed t’ gills today,” Soap greeted, sitting up quickly. The man averted his gaze, hand flexing in what was clearly a nervous habit. He had shed the tactical vest and a majority of weapons, but based on what Soap could tell outlined by the man’s too-tight long-sleeved black shirt, he had plenty of other things packing. Soap bit the inside of his cheek. Focus, man.
“Sorry ‘bout it. Figured a late night coffee shop wouldn’t blink twice at me,” Ghost said stiffly.
“Ghost, I feel like that is the second time you’ve ever apologized in your life,” Soap joked. The man’s eyes snapped up, cold and hard, and then, for the briefest of moments, a small bit of mirth was found there before disappearing.
“Don’t make a habit of it, no,” Ghost said.
“Large black coffee, enough caffeine to kill an elephant?” Soap asked brightly, grabbing the cup. Ghost nodded, waiting patiently as Soap rang him up before wandering over to the pick-up sign once more. Soap drew another ghost on the cup, this time embellishing the ghost with a little skull face. And because he was in a particularly good mood, he disappeared into the back and came back with a slice of cheesecake in a to-go box.
“I don’t eat them,” Ghost said, grabbing the coffee and pointedly ignoring the container in Soap’s hand.
“Then give them to a piss poor drunk on yer way home. It’s a gift Ghost, I don’t care what you do with it as long as you take it outta here,” Soap said.
Ghost’s eyes searched his for a long moment, before he reached out, taking great care not to accidentally touch Soap as he took the container from him. Soap wondered, not for the first time, what the man’s deal was.
“Do you ever take it off?” Soap blurted out. Ghost narrowed his eyes at him. Soap held his gaze, refusing to back down.
“Why do you ask?” Ghost asked.
“Are you ugly?” Soap asked, an insane part of him hoping that maybe the man would snap and tackle him from across the counter. Would he die? Almost definitely. But as a happy man? Likely.
“Quite the opposite,” Ghost said, and if Soap were a betting man, which he wasn’t, he could’ve sworn that he was flirting with him.
“I doubt that,” Soap said, because he wanted to die, he was sure of it. Ghost sized him up for a long moment.
“I prefer tea over this shit,” He said, holding the coffee cup up. Soap snorted.
“Fuckin Brits man, why you ask for coffee then?” Soap asked.
“To blend in, can’t have the locals suspecting me,” Ghost said.
“You’re fuckin with me,” Soap said. Ghost shook his head slowly.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Keeps the dreams away though,” Ghost said, tilting the cup oh so slightly towards Soap before turning away.
“Ghost,” Soap began. The man paused, the only indication he was listening.
“What’s your favorite tea?”
“Earl grey most days, chai if I’m festive,” Ghost said.
“I don’t think you know the meaning of the word festive,” Soap said. He wondered distantly if he was ever going to shut the fuck up.
“Mm, must be why I hate chai so goddamn much,” Ghost said, and left, cheesecake in hand.
“Filthy liar,” Soap said to himself.