The rain always reminded Ghost of you.

Not because you liked it—you hated getting wet, always shaking your head and tail with disgust when caught in it—but because it had been raining the night he lost you.

Ghost, a rare hybrid himself, part man, part sleek black panther, still remembered the way his claws had sunk into the dirt as he held you in his arms, your warmth slipping away like steam in the cold. The enemy had been fast, too fast, and you had stepped in front of him like you always did. Selfless. Reckless. So you.

And then you were gone.

Three years passed.

Three long years of silent missions and sleepless nights. Ghost grew colder, his hybrid instincts sharpening in the absence of your gentle touch. The others noticed. Soap stopped trying to make him laugh. Price didn’t ask questions anymore. Gaz only gave him knowing glances and a pat on the back now and then.

No one talked about you. It hurt too much.

He saw you again on a rainy day.

It was a quick stop in a quiet town. Ghost was sitting outside a little café, hood up, nursing a bitter coffee while rain tapped on the canopy above. And then he smelled you.

He stiffened, tail going rigid. His claws flexed under the table. He knew that scent. It had never left him.

Turning slowly, he saw someone ducking under the awning across the street, their umbrella folding with a small struggle. You looked exactly the same—same eyes, same hands, same way you crinkled your nose when droplets landed on your cheeks. But something was different too.

There was no flicker of recognition when you glanced his way.

None.

You walked past like he was nobody.

Ghost stood so fast his chair scraped back on the pavement, but he didn’t move to follow right away. He just stared. His heart—something he’d thought long turned to stone—thundered against his ribs.

You were alive.

And yet… you weren’t.

He found out your name. Different from before. You worked in a flower shop, of all things. Laughed with customers, smiled easily. But there were no signs of the past life you once shared.

No scar on your hip from when you fell climbing that cliff with him. No old hoodie of his you refused to throw out. No necklace he gave you, no twitch of memory when you passed the war memorial where your team’s photo once hung.

It was like the universe gave him a cruel gift. A second chance that wasn’t really one.

Ghost visited the shop often. You started recognizing him as a regular customer, but not for who he really was. You teased him about always buying lilies—your favorite, not that you knew that anymore. He found comfort in hearing your voice again, even if you didn’t know him.

“Funny,” you’d said once, handing him the bouquet. “You always look like you’re mourning someone.”

He flinched.

“I am.”

Weeks passed.

One night, it stormed hard, the way it had all those years ago. Ghost was walking home when he found you again—this time curled on the bench outside your shop, drenched and shivering.

You’d forgotten your keys. Locked out.

He offered you his coat, ears twitching nervously. When you looked up at him, something passed through your eyes. A flicker. Like déjà vu. Like a thread tugging loose in your soul.

“Do I know you?” you whispered, voice barely audible over the rain.

His throat closed.

“I knew someone… like you,” he rasped. “A long time ago.”

You studied him, then reached out and touched his cheek just like you used to when comforting him. Your palm was warm, grounding. Ghost leaned into it despite himself.

“I don’t remember,” you said. “But I think I dreamed of you once. You were crying… and I was holding your face like this.”

He shut his eyes. A choked breath escaped him.

“You did,” he whispered. “You used to.”