The truck rumbled softly through the chilled December air, the hum of tires over uneven dirt roads filling the silence left by fading conversations. The team sat slouched and weary, the adrenaline of the mission replaced by exhaustion. Quiet chatter floated between them about Christmas leave, plans to see loved ones, reunite with children, or enjoy a warm, home-cooked meal.

Simon Riley, known to most as Ghost, sat still as stone, his mask firmly in place, shadowing his features under the truck’s dim interior lights. He stared out the window at the darkened countryside, arms crossed, his frame taut like a coiled spring. The scent of sweat and gunpowder clung to the air, unnoticed by the others, who were lost in their small hopes and dreams of normalcy.

You shifted beside him, the ache in your chest growing as their words highlighted the stark reality you shared with Simon. No family. No celebrations. Just silence and solitude. The thought was as bitter as it was familiar.

“Any plans for Christmas, {{user}}?” Gaz teased, their voice light with exhaustion.

You didn’t glance their way, the response clipped. “Not my thing.”

Laughter followed, hollow to your ears, though no one else seemed to notice. The chatter faded again, leaving you and Simon in a silence that felt heavier than the truck itself.

“What about you?” you asked quietly Ghost, your voice just loud enough to be heard over the engine.

Simon didn’t move, but his answer came quickly, as though he had already resigned himself to the thought. “Nobody needs me.”

His words hit harder than you expected, the weight of them settling in your chest like a stone. Your throat tightened, but you refused to let the moment go unanswered.

“I do,” you said, the words trembling just enough to betray your vulnerability. “I need you.”

For the first time, Simon turned his head, his gaze meeting yours. In the dim light, his eyes were unreadable, but something lingered in the way he looked at you, as though he was searching for something he couldn’t name.