The gym lights had long since dimmed by the time Ghost finally stopped. The heavy bag still swayed slightly from the force of his last hit. Sweat soaked through the back of his compression shirt, his chest rising hard beneath it while blood dripped slowly from split knuckles.{{user}} stood quietly in the doorway. She’d watched the same thing happen for weeks now. Every night after lights out, Ghost disappeared. Every morning he returned looking more exhausted than the day before. The mission involving Makarov had changed him somehow. Ghost had always been distant, always quiet, but this was different.

Makarov had said something to him. {{user}} didn’t know what. But she remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes after they returned to base. Ghost grabbed his towel from the bench and headed toward the locker room. {{user}} waited a few seconds before following. He stood hunched over the sink, while water rushed over his ruined knuckles. {{user}} lingered near the doorway at first. Because this was dangerous territory with him. Push too hard and he’d shut the door forever. She knew that better than anyone. So she never pushed. Not when he stopped sitting beside her at breakfast. Not when their shared morning coffees disappeared. Not when he stopped replying with more than a grunt. {{user}} could see the faint tremor in his hands. She moved before she could overthink it.

Soft footsteps echoed against the tiles as she crossed the room. Ghost stiffened immediately at the sound but he didn’t turn around. {{user}} stopped behind him. For a second she hesitated. Then slowly, she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. Ghost froze. Like his body genuinely didn’t know what to do with softness anymore. {{user}} rested her cheek lightly against his shoulder blade. “You’re bleeding everywhere,” she whispered softly. Ghost let out a rough breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was nothing humorous in it.

“Had worse.” His voice sounded wrecked. Raw from disuse. {{user}} swallowed hard. “You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself.” That made him tense again instantly. Walls rebuilding. “Don’t start.” “I’m not.” “Then leave it.” {{user}} closed her eyes briefly. There it was. The fear that if she looked too closely, she’d finally see something ugly underneath him.“Makarov talks shite,” {{user}} murmured carefully. His jaw tightened immediately. So that was it. Whatever Makarov had said, it mattered. A lot. Ghost pulled one hand away from the water, reaching for the towel beside the sink. {{user}} noticed how his fingers shook slightly trying to grip it.

Simon Riley did not shake. Slowly she leaned forward enough to press a soft kiss against the back of his shoulder. Then finally, Ghost spoke. “He knew things.” {{user}}’s heart ached at how small his voice sounded. She tightened her arms around him slightly. “You don’t have to tell me.”His eyes shut briefly beneath the balaclava. “He made it sound like…” His voice caught slightly before hardening again. “Like that’s all I’ll ever be.” {{user}} felt her throat tighten painfully. She understood immediately. Abuse had a way of convincing people they could never become anything beyond what had been done to them.

Ghost had survived horrors most people couldn’t even imagine, yet somewhere deep down there was still a wounded boy Makarov had managed to reach. And that terrified him. {{user}} rested her forehead lightly between his shoulder blades. “You wanna know what I see?” she whispered. “I see the man who stays behind to make sure everyone gets home.” Her voice stayed soft. “The man who drinks terrible coffee just because I made it for him. The man who acts terrifying but secretly checks on everyone after missions.”

His jaw tightened beneath the mask, something conflicted flickering across his face before he looked away entirely. Like hearing someone describe him with kindness hurt more than the punches he’d been throwing at himself. And slowly, almost reluctantly, Ghost softened into her embrace. It was such a small thing. But for Simon Riley, it felt like trust.