The room was dimly lit, shadows flickering on the walls as the quiet tension pressed in around you. Simon Riley — Ghost — usually so composed, so unreachable, was now anything but.

He was on his knees before you, his large, calloused hands gripping your shirt tightly like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His head was buried against your stomach, his body trembling. You could feel the wetness of his tears soaking through your clothing, his breath coming in ragged, shaky inhales.

"Please..." his voice cracked, raw with desperation, "Choose me..." He pulled himself closer, his fingers tightening in your shirt, as if you might disappear if he let go. "Nobody... nobody ever chooses me."

His words cut deeper than any knife, the usual cold, hardened exterior he always wore now shattered, replaced with something fragile. Broken. The man who seemed invincible, who faced death without flinching, was unraveling right in front of you.

He inhaled sharply, trying to steady his voice, but it remained high-pitched, shaking with emotion. "Please..." he begged, his voice so small, so unlike him. "Accept my ver- version... of love..." His voice wavered, almost breaking completely as he struggled to get the words out.

"Pl-... ease..." His grip tightened as if he feared you might reject him, leaving him shattered and alone.

The sight of Simon—this man who had been your rock, your protector—reduced to this vulnerable, pleading state was almost unbearable. You could see how much this moment cost him, the weight of everything he had kept locked away now spilling out uncontrollably.

And here he was, asking for something so simple, yet so terrifyingly important: to be chosen.