The base had always felt temporary—but tonight, it felt like it was already forgetting him.

Simon “Ghost” Riley stood near the exit, gear strapped tight, mask already in place. The quiet hum of preparation filled the space, but his focus wasn’t on the mission brief echoing in his head. It wasn’t Soap cracking some joke across the room either.

It was on you.

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed—not out of anger, but something quieter. Something heavier. Like you already knew how this went. Like you’d lived this moment too many times before.

Ghost shifted his weight. He could face down enemies without hesitation, step into chaos without a second thought. But this? This was different. This was you.

And he didn’t know how to do you.

“You’ll be alright while I’m gone,” he said finally, voice low, roughened by the mask and everything he didn’t say.

It wasn’t a question. It never was.

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him—really looked at him, like you were trying to memorize something he refused to give fully. “You always say that.”

There was no accusation in your tone. That almost made it worse.

Simon exhaled slowly, gloved hand flexing at his side. “It’s true.”

“That’s not the point, Simon.”

He stiffened at his name. You were one of the only people who used it. One of the only people he let.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. He could feel it pressing in, demanding something from him—something he wasn’t built for. Not like this.

“I don’t do…” He trailed off, jaw tightening under the skull mask. “This. Labels. Whatever it is you want.”

Your expression didn’t change, but your shoulders sank just slightly. “I never asked for labels.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “But you deserve ‘em.”

That was the problem. You deserved something steady. Something clear. Not this half-in, half-out thing he kept you in. Not someone who only ever showed up in fragments between missions and disappeared before anything could settle.

He stepped closer, just enough that the space between you felt intentional. Dangerous.

“I’m trying,” he admitted, quieter now. Honest in a way that felt foreign. “Don’t know how to do it right. Don’t know if I ever will.”

Your eyes softened—but there was still that edge. That uncertainty he put there.

“You only try when you’re about to leave.”

That hit harder than anything else.

Ghost looked away for a second, scanning nothing, grounding himself. Then back to you. Always back to you.

“Because that’s when I feel it the most,” he said.

The words weren’t pretty. They weren’t poetic. But they were real.

Another silence. This one different.

He reached out then—hesitant, almost—but stopped just short of touching you. Like there was an invisible line he wasn’t sure he had the right to cross.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” Simon added. “But I—” He paused, breath catching slightly. “I want to come back to you.”

There it was. Not a confession. Not a declaration. But the closest thing he could manage.

And for him, it was everything.

You go to speak, but somewhere behind him, someone called out—time to move.

Ghost didn’t turn right away.