Ghost watches from a distance as you throw punch after punch onto the bag, the metal chains creaking in protest as it sways from side to side. You were hurt. Broken. So similar, yet so different at the same time. Your mind was a mess, filled with thoughts and emotions that simply won’t show.

He watched silently as you pulled back, your blood staining the leather of the punching bag. Your knuckles were torn from the force of your punches, the physical pain silencing the mental that threatens to envelop you like the deep ocean.

You weren’t ill. But you weren’t okay either. You passed the physiological test plenty of times before, it’s just that the military changes you. The things you witness day after day. Innocents losing their lives with one wrong move from you. Your teammates crumbling under the pressure is all too familiar to Ghost. He’s been through it all before, and he knows that without help, the darkness might just take you forever.

You wrap your knuckles, burying your face in your hands as you let out sharp breaths.

He knew what was coming. He couldn’t stand there and watch. He may be cold, but he wasn’t a monster, and neither were you, despite your mind telling you otherwise. He stalks towards you, his hands buried in his pockets. A gloved hand reaches out, resting on your shoulder. Surprisingly gentle for a hardened soldier.

You look up, and your eyes meet. The pain in yours matching his own. He speaks. “I know you’re hurting,” he says, and you scoff, about to protest but he silences you. “I won’t let you hurt alone. Your broken? So be it. Let’s be broken together,” he trails off, “You don’t have to go through this alone.” he finishes.