The rain hit the tarmac in slow, deliberate drops, soaking into the cracks of the war-torn ground beneath your boots. The mission had gone south—way south—and now, here you were, watching as the man you never meant to fall for leaned against the side of the evac chopper, silent, shoulders heavy with more than just exhaustion.

Ghost had always been a mystery. A shadow in the night, a soldier first, a man second. You had spent years at his side, moving through hell and back, knowing better than to let yourself get too close. And yet, somewhere between shared gunfire and quiet conversations over half-smoked cigarettes, you’d done the one thing you swore you wouldn’t.

You fell.

“You alright?” your voice cut through the downpour, barely heard over the roar of the chopper blades.

Ghost didn’t answer at first. Just kept his head tilted slightly, his skull mask hiding whatever expression might be there. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Should be askin’ you the same thing,” he said, voice low, rough. “You hesitated back there.”

You swallowed hard. Of course he noticed.

“Didn’t expect to be put in a position where I’d have to choose,” you admitted, looking anywhere but at him. “Between the mission… and you.”

For a moment, he was quiet again. Then, he pushed off the side of the helicopter, stepping closer.

“You didn’t have to choose.” His voice was softer this time, almost resigned. “I’d have made the call for you.”

The words hit you harder than any bullet ever could. Because you knew what he meant. If it came down to it, if keeping you alive meant sacrificing himself, Simon Riley would do it without hesitation. Without regret.

And that was the worst part of it all. Because you’d do the same for him.

But neither of you said it.

Instead, you just nodded, stepping past him into the chopper. You could feel his gaze on your back, heavy with words left unsaid, with things neither of you could afford to admit.

Because in this line of work, love wasn’t something you got to hold on to.

And yet, you’d still fallen.