Ghost was used to it by now.

Surrounded by death on the daily, he grew desensitized to such — the carnage, the baggage that weighed on his already burdened shoulders with each passing of his teammates, his enemies.

Yet, for the first time in a long while, he felt a different kind of pain when it happened to you.

The day he held you close as you took your last breaths, when the light in your eyes dimmed for good. All he wished to say to your face remaining unsaid.

Not only did his feelings nag him, destroying the sense peace he once felt with you — your apparition haunted him, as well.

With that, the guilt and grief he endured daily since your funeral was intensified; seeing you everywhere he went, the wind carrying your voice into his ears whenever he least expected it.

Tonight, he stood in front of your grave, back once again with a fresh batch of flowers to replace the ones that withered away during his absence.

“I love you, alright?” He muttered, the words he hadn’t managed to express aloud during your life carried into the breeze, chilly wind ruffling his short hair as he sighed, lips curled into an everlasting frown.

Ghost could feel your presence behind him — so close, yet so far.

His fingers itched to feel your skin against his once again. Wishing to embrace you tight as if you’d slip away from him, even if you already did, your comforting presence reduced to a ghostly memory.

He swallowed thickly, his calloused hand shifted to grasp the dog tags that formerly belonged to you that now hung on his neck beside his own; close to his heart.

“But why?” He stressed, “Why do you keep followin’ me around..?”