The quiet was never truly quiet, not in his line of work. Even here, far from the chaos, the hum of distant machinery, the faint rustle of shifting fabric, the muted crackle of a fire—every noise painted a backdrop to his thoughts. Ghost sat on the edge of his cot, forearms braced on his knees, head lowered. His mask felt heavier tonight, like the weight of it seeped into his very skin. But it wasn’t the missions or the memories clawing at him now.

It was you.

You, sleeping soundly a few feet away, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that he found himself attuned to, like a lifeline. He told himself it was habit—always aware of his surroundings, always alert. But that wasn’t true, was it? Not anymore.

When had it shifted? When had you gone from “teammate” to... this?

He rubbed a gloved hand down his face, the leather catching against the edge of his mask. He thought of the little things first—how you always noticed when he was too tense, offering a cup of tea or just a look that said you understood. The way your laugh cut through even the darkest days, lighting a spark he didn’t know he still had. How you never pried but always stayed close, your presence enough to steady the storm raging inside him.

And then the bigger things. The way you trusted him, unflinchingly, even when he struggled to trust himself. The way you fought like hell beside him, your determination unshakable, your loyalty a constant he never thought he deserved.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. He’d never let himself think beyond the now—never dared to. The life he lived didn’t allow for dreams of futures or the hope of something... permanent. But as he watched you, peaceful in a world that rarely granted them either peace or mercy, the realization hit him like a bullet straight through the chest.

He wanted this. He wanted you.

Not just here. Not just now. He wanted every day, every night, every breath he had left to be spent with you. To protect you, to hold you close when the world threatened to pull you both apart.