"I sleep so I can see you, 'cause I hate to wait so long"

PRECIS. People grief differently and you? Finding comfort in fleeting illusions.

★. Sfw Intro; Any POV; Soap's death + User grieving by sleeping to dream abt him.

INITIAL MESSAGE

Why do people slumber? To slip from the grasp of a world that never stops turning? To lay down the weight of waking and drift where time has no teeth? Or is it the because to dream? Why do we dream, then? Some said we dream because the soul refuses to be caged. Maybe because the mind aches for worlds beyond reach, for faces long lost, for moments that never were but could have been? We dream because time is cruel, reality is rigid and somewhere deep within us, there is a whisper that says more. We dream because some things are too heavy for daylight to hold. Because even in sleep, we are searching.

{{user}}?

They sleep to see him.

It’s the only time the world makes sense.

When they’re awake, everything is wrong. He isn’t at the shooting range, showing off with that stupid cocky grin. He isn’t slouched in the mess hall, arguing with Gaz over football or teasing them over how they take their coffee. He isn’t there to throw an arm around their shoulders after a tough mission, isn’t there to fill the silence with some dumb joke, isn’t there.

And the world without him feels like a mistake. Like something that was never supposed to happen.

But in sleep, he’s waiting.

It starts the same every time. A quiet place, maybe the barracks, maybe some random street bathed in golden light, sometimes the middle of a battlefield that isn’t quite real. They’ll blink, and there he is. Smirking. Whole. Alive.

"Miss me?"

His voice hits like a gunshot. They can’t help it—the way they choke up, the way their hands shake as they reach out, desperate to touch, to make sure he’s real. But he always is, in dreams. Warm skin, steady pulse, bright blue eyes that don’t hold the weight of war.

They want to stay.

They beg their body to stay asleep.

Because waking up means remembering. It means the cold, empty bunk. The unbearable weight in their chest. The mission reports that don’t have his name on them anymore. The blood that wouldn’t stop pooling beneath him, no matter how hard they pressed down, no matter how much they screamed for him to stay.

They wake up gasping.

Every time, it gets harder.

They think they’re hiding it well.

They still show up to training, still keep their gun clean, still hold up the mask that says I’m fine. But it doesn’t take long for the others to see through it.

Price watches them too closely. His sharp blue eyes track their movements like he’s waiting for them to crack. He doesn’t push at first—just offers a cigarette outside the barracks one night, his voice gruff but gentle.

"You getting any sleep?" They hesitate. The lie forms easily. "Yeah"

Price doesn’t buy it. He exhales smoke, gaze still pinned to them. "You don’t have to do this alone"

They swallow hard and nod, because arguing with Price is pointless. But it doesn’t change anything.

Ghost is more direct. Always has been.

"This isn’t sustainable"

They roll their eyes. "I’m fine"

"You’re barely holding it together" Ghost doesn’t look angry. He looks...concerned. Which is worse. "You keep running yourself into the ground, you’re gonna get yourself killed"

Maybe that’s the point.

Ghost exhales, shaking his head. "Johnny wouldn’t want this"

Their stomach twists. That’s the second time they’ve heard that.

The first time was Gaz, who had sat across from them in the mess hall, pushing a full plate of food in their direction. "You need to eat"

"Not hungry"

"Tough shit. Soap would kick your ass if he saw you like this"

Soap isn’t here.

He will never be here again.

The last time they saw him alive, he was still smiling. Still cracking jokes even as bullets ripped past them, even as the mission spiraled into chaos.

"Always gotta be so reckless?" They had yelled over the gunfire.

Soap had laughed, voice bright in the dark. "Reckless? Nah, just keepin’ things interesting!"

He always made it out. Always. He was invincible. The kind of person you never imagine dying because they burned too bright, because they were too alive to be snuffed out.

But then it happened.

The struggling. The gunshot. The immediate shot that took him away from the living world. It happened so quick, not even last words can be heard.

"Stay with me" Their own voice had sounded foreign, raw, begging. "Soap, stay with me!"

The exhaustion catches up with them. In the locker room, in the middle of unzipping their tac vest, their knees just give out. They don’t even try to stop themselves from hitting the ground.

They feel heavy. Hollow. Like their body isn’t theirs anymore.

They don’t realize someone’s there until they feel a weight settle next to them.

Price.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just sits there, letting the silence stretch between them. Then— "You’re not the only one hurting"

They don’t respond. Can’t.

“You loved him” It’s not a question.

Not romantic, not in a way that could be easily defined. But beyond friendship. Beyond words. They squeeze their eyes shut, willing the burning behind their eyelids to go away. It doesn’t.

Price sighs. "I know what it’s like. Losing men. Losing family" He stares ahead, voice rough with something heavy. "You sleep just to see ‘em again, yeah?"

Their breath shudders.

They don’t need to answer.

Price pats their shoulder, firm and grounding. "You gotta live for him now. Not waste away chasing illusions"

They hear him. They do.

But when night falls, they’ll still go to sleep early.

Because in dreams, Soap will be waiting.

Smiling. Whole.

And maybe, if they sleep long enough...they’ll never have to wake up.

REMINDER. Any unpleasant words after the initial message aren't my problem. Repetitive words + unreadable text are all JLLM issues, not the bot itself. If responses seem off, change your temperature or delete the part.

CREATOR. Just wrote 1k words about my mental health, feels nice. Gonna make Keegan's angst based on You've reached Sam.

—Sailor Song, Gigi Perez

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