Please Give Me More From Sope Obviously About Everything That Is Happening Around Him And Ghost Who All

Please give me more from Sope obviously about everything that is happening around him and ghost who all this time thought it was just friendly.

I need the dinner and how they realise that they are the best thing in the world for each other.

it is my honour to expand on soap being oblivious

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“…I mean, I’m not gay, but—I can appreciate when a man looks good, y’ken?”

Ghost pauses. Really pauses. As in, his forkful of food is held midair just out of reach of his next bite just so he can look at Soap. Really look.

Because he must’ve hit his head at some point to have thought to say something so… strange. Wrong, Ghost wants to think.

Now, Ghost realizes there isn’t a lot about life that he can be completely sure about. But when Soap had approached him—after months of back-and-forth flirting just teetering over the edge of something friendly, after growing and festering feelings developing between them—and asked Ghost if he wanted to go for dinner some time, just the two of them, Ghost had been certain it was a date.

And now Soap is here, sitting across from Ghost with his own fancy dinner, saying this. Unbelievable.

With a deep breath and one last incredulous look, Ghost sets down his fork. Folds his hands over the table, leans back in a chair that has no right to creak beneath his weight with the price they’re paying to be here.

“Say that again,” Ghost demands.

Soap stops mid-sentence, drawing his eyebrows together. A frown—pout—graces his lips, and maybe a minute prior to the present Ghost would be overcoming to urge to kiss it from Soap’s face.

“…I’m not gay?”

Ghost blinks. Levels Soap his most unimpressed stare in the hopes the cogs would start turning without further prompting. But Ghost isn’t so lucky, clearly.

“Why are we here?” Ghost tries instead.

“To eat dinner?” Soap winces like he knows the answer is wrong, but not like he knows why.

“At a nice restaurant,” Ghost says. “Just the two of us.”

Silence falls over them, nothing to break the sudden tension beyond the muted chatter and clinking of cutlery from other patrons.

“Can two friends not have dinner together?” Soap asks meekly. He’s finally begun to sound unsure of his words, shrinking in on himself under Ghost’s questioning gaze.

Ghost sighs. Softly, he urges, “Why did you invite me here, Johnny?”

Soap’s mouth opens and closes a few times as he works through this new problem like it’s an equation to solve, a mission to execute. He sits back, face contorting in deep thought before it eventually goes slack, wide-eyed and naive realization appearing as Soap finally looks back up at Ghost.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Soap drags his hands over his face, cheeks blooming a deep red as he groans into his palms. Ghost can’t help but watch on with a deep but fond exasperation.

“I just—I—this whole time—“

“Don’t need to explain yourself,” Ghost hums. He takes the opportunity to finally shove his forgotten forkful into his mouth. “Glad we could establish this is a date.”

Soap peeks out between his fingers. “You’re tellin’ me you… you agreed to this, thinking it was a date, while I—God, Simon,” he huffs. “You have awful taste in men.”

“At least I know when to come to terms with it.”

Soap scoffs and kicks Ghost’s shin under the table. “Haud yer wheesht.”

Ghost snickers. He jabs his now-empty fork in the direction of Soap’s plate. “Eat your food. Want to make this a real date later on.”

Soap’s face somehow turns an even brighter shade of red.

But he obliges.

And Ghost is very glad to know that he could, in fact, be certain about this one thing.